The group declined to walk Micky back to the studio, deciding instead that it would be simpler just to wait for him in Mike's apartment. Not long after he left, a knock was heard on the newly-repaired door.

"Who is it?" Mike asked.

"Mabel, dear," the voice answered.

Peter gasped, and Mike motioned for him and Davy to hide in the bathroom. When they silently objected, he forcibly pushed them in, propping the door shut with a stool that had once been an armchair. "Be quiet!" he hissed.

As he opened the door, he enthused nervously, "Gosh, Mabel, I'm glad you're all right. I didn't know where you'd gotten to. I was worried that--"

"I can't stay, hon, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I have to go now," she said and turned to leave.

"No, wait!" Mike shouted, much louder than he had intended to. "Why?"

She studied the carpet in the hall, and did not answer.

"Why, Mabel? Do you know who did this?" he persisted.

"Just watch out, okay, dear? Be careful from now on."

"I'm not lettin' you go until you tell me who did this!" he roared at her, and instantly regretted it when he heard Peter and Davy force their way out of the bathroom.

"We heard shouting," Davy explained.

Peter glared at Mabel, and then turned away.

"Guys, do you have any concept of the word 'privacy'?" Mike demanded.

"It's okay, dear," Mabel said. "They're looking out for you."

"Mabel," Mike pleaded softly, "Tell me who did this, I need to know. It needs to be stopped, and I don't think it was you. Maybe that's dumb of me, but they've told me all this stuff and sometimes I'd think, yeah, it has to be you, but deep down, I can't accept it. I don't know what role you play in this, Mabel, but help me, please."

She looked him in the eye, and said quietly, "You should see Mr. Eltistwen."

Mike let her go, and she smiled weakly at him before walking away down the hall.

"You-- you're letting her go!" Peter gasped, trying to force his way past Mike so he could follow her.

Mike restrained him. "That's right. I don't care if she did it or not," he lied. "Just let her alone for awhile, all right?"

Peter glared at him, and collapsed sullenly on the remains of the sofa.

"Who's Mr. Eltistwen?" asked Davy.

They pondered this question for a good two hours before Micky came back.

"Hey, guys, we've got a commercial spot to do now for Mike the Blessed Fish or whatever, and you're gonna have to help me pay for it," he announced. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket. "Two thousand dollars. Here's the contract."

Peter took it uninterestedly and scanned it. When his face contorted in surprise, Mike asked, "What is it? What's the matter?"

"You know who the advertising director is? One Mr. Eltistwen."

"Oh my god!" yelped Davy.

"So what?" asked Micky, confused.

"Well," Mike drawled, "I guess we'd better go back to the office and try to get this contract revoked. And I think he's gonna have to answer a few questions, too."

~*~

Half an hour later, the group found themselves in Mr. Eltistwen's waiting room.

"Yes?" the director called from inside his office.

"Hey there," Mike said brightly, entering. "I'm Mike Blessing, and I heard that my senile old uncle has been around here negotiating contracts. I don't suppose you've seen him?"

"Are you referring to Admiral Mike of The Blessed Fish and Admirality Shop?"

"That would be him," Mike agreed.

"Yes, he was just here. Accepted a contract for a commercial, in fact."

Mike smiled apologetically. "I hate to break this to you, when there's money involved and all, but he's crazy, so we don't actually need the commercial spot, so to speak. We don't have a fish shop, you dig?"

Micky interjected, leaning through the doorway, "Man, they don't even have a goldfish!"

"You look familiar," Mr. Eltistwen said, looking closely at Micky.

"Oh, I'm around here a lot, man," he explained hastily, ducking back outside.

"So there is no commercial?" Mr. Eltistwen asked.

"Right," said Mike.

Davy stuck his head in the door. "So why did he mention you, Mike? Have you found out yet?"

Peter pulled Davy back out. "Shhhhhh!" he chastized.

Mr. Eltistwen glared suspiciously at Mike.

"Um, well, I heard that you--"

Micky re-entered and whispered, "I don't think we're gonna get anywhere like this, man. Let me have a go, and could you get Davy in here?"

Mike shrugged, and called for Davy to join them in the office.

"Davy, man, you know what this guy has done?" Micky asked, referring to the ad director.

"No, but I can guess," Davy said. "He single-handedly fired a poor old woman and trashed poor young Mike's apartment and had a bunch of poor guys signed up for deadly fish ads!"

"What are you boys talking about?" demanded Eltistwen.

Mike decided that it would be to his benefit to step outside, and did so.

Peter asked, "What's going on in there?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Pete. Davy and Mick are in there shouting at him... maybe they want him to have a nervous breakdown or something. I really don't know. But it isn't gonna work. We need a better plan, or the police."

Just then the sound of Micky screaming, "Confess now, you scum! Man, we have ways of making you talk that you are not gonna like!" issued from the office.

Davy answered loudly, "Yeah, a scary cat, that's what!"

Suddenly, they heard the ad director yell, "Alright, you little hooligans, I'm calling security!"

Mike moaned and rolled his eyes.

"He sounds like he means it, too," said Peter.

"I'll get Micky and Davy," Mike volunteered reluctantly. He opened the office door, and shouted, "C'mon, you guys, we gotta get out of here!"

"No way, man!" Micky responded, "We just got him to confess!"

"You did? To what?" Mike asked.

Davy looked askance at Micky. "To kidnapping the Hindenberg Baby, of all things. I think he's just buying time."

"We better go--" Peter yelped from outside, "Right now!"

Without waiting for the others, Mike darted out to the waiting room, and was greeted with the sight of five security guards coming their way.

"Shit!" he cursed under his breath, then shouted, "Come on guys!"

He leapt over a desk in order to bypass the guards, and ran as fast as he could to the stairs, which he leapt down three at a time. Although he heard footsteps behind him, he did not know if they belonged to the guards or to his friends, and he was unwilling to look over his shoulder and check. He just ran faster.

When he reached the street, he heard Peter call from behind him, "Mike, wait a minute, it's okay, they didn't follow us!"

He abruptly stopped running, and sank down to the pavement, his heart racing. While he caught his breath, he looked around. Sure enough, the guards were nowhere in sight.

"Where's Micky and Davy?" he panted.

Peter shrugged.

They waited nervously outside of the building for another ten minutes.

"We better go," Peter said. "If they're not out by now..."

Mike nodded. "Yeah, we can go back to my place, they should be able to find us there."

Peter agreed, and the two dejected figures took the short walk back to Mike's apartment. It was empty, just as it should be, but the fact was not comforting. Damn, I was hoping they'd be here, waiting...

He must have sighed, or otherwise betrayed his dissapointment, because Peter said comfortingly, "It's okay, Mike. Those two are pretty resourceful. They'll be okay. Besides, even if the worst happened, and they end up in jail, all they can be charged with is disturbing the peace. They'll be out in no time. Everything's gonna be all right."

"Yeah, I guess. Still, I wish I knew what happened to them."

Listlessly, Mike began fiddling with his ruined guitar, which had been propped up in a corner.

"I've got a question, Pete," he said.

"Yeah?"

"You said you thought this could be fixed. Did'ja have someone specific in mind?"

Peter smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did. She's a friend of mine, runs a little music shop downtown. Gives the best deals and she's an absolute master at repairs."

"Well, if Mick and Davy get back, they'd wait for us, right?"

"Of course."

"Good, I think I need somethin' to take my mind off all this."

~*~

A short bus ride later, they arrived at Peter's friend's shop.

"Music Shop," Mike read off the sign above the door. "Now there's a creative name."

"Hush," Peter reprimanded as they walked into the small store. "Hey, Sara, are you here?"

"Yes, I'm here. The store wouldn't be open if I wasn't here, now would it?" a voice called from the back.

Peter grinned, and Mike could tell that Sara meant something more in Peter's mind than simply a friend who fixed guitars.

"We've got a little job for you," Peter called.

"Who's we?"

"Me, and, well, actually, it's this guy Mike's guitar..."

"Let me take a look at it," Sara replied, and entered the main room.

Mike had to admit it, she was pretty, and he could see why Peter liked her. Still, there was something about her that put him off. Maybe it was the way she immediately looked at his guitar... and her gaze was so... clinical. As if his guitar was a mere thing. Still, if she could repair it, he'd deal with anything...

'This is it, huh? What'd you do, lend it to Pete Townshend?"

Peter laughed, but Mike frowned slightly and said, "No, my apartment was broken into, and this, just like everything else, was trashed. Now can you fix it or not?"

"Woah, no need to be short-tempered about it, I'll see what I can do. Come back tomorrow, and I'll tell you what's what."

"Can't you tell now?" Mike demanded.

"My, my, he's not only charming, he's impatient, too," she mocked. "Okay, you can come with me around the back, but it's not a pretty sight."

As she led them to the back room of the shop, Mike looked at the instruments lining the walls. Everything appeared to be in pristine condition, and the selection ran from maracas and wood blocks to amps and electric basses, not to mention a full drum kit, and a grand piano. He would have sworn that everything couldn't possibly have fit inside the small shop, but somehow it did. The back room, however, was another matter. Everything ws in dissarray; bits of horns, guitar fretboards, strings, ripped drum skins... whatever could be broken and was, was here in piles, in drawers, spilling off of tables. It was downright eerie, like a graveyard, and Mike wondered how she could stand to be around it.

She put his guitar onto a work table, and examined it thoroughly. Finally she said, "Yeah, I think this is fixable. But it's gonna take a long time. Tell you what, I work on yours, and you can borrow one of mine for as long as this is out. If it turns out that I can't help this one, you can keep the other."

Peter smiled, and Mike could tell he was about to make some cheerful remark about her stunning generosity. Mike just sighed, and said he'd think about it.

Much to his surprise, Sara put her arm around his shoulder. "I know it's hard," she said, "But I'll do everything I can. You look pretty uptight... Please, just take something, maybe it'll help you get your mind off things. Actually, I think I've got one very similar to this somewhere..."

"I'll look around."

Mike left Peter and Sara to their own devices in the back room, and headed out to peruse the guitars. He felt mild resentment at the fact that he would have to use another, but he knew that it was the best he could do given the situation. He stared blankly at the wall of the shop upon which the guitars hung. Then something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. In a neat little black box on a shelf was a glistening silver harmonica. Hey, I've taken a couple lessons on the harmonica. He picked it up and gave it an experimental hoot. The tinny noise it made brought a smile to his face, and he returned to the back room cradling the box in his arm.

"Okay, got it," he said.

Peter looked confused. "But that's not--"

"I know. I'm gonna get my guitar back, you said so Pete, and I believe you. But until then, I'm gonna brush up on the harmonica."

Sara smiled. "You are one stubborn man," she conceeded. "Alright, you can keep that one, it's on the house. I'll let you know when your guitar's finished. What's your number?"

Mike laughed. "The phone got destroyed, too."

"I see. Well, I'll call Peter and he'll let you know, how's that?"

"Sounds fine."

~*~

The bus ride back to his apartment didn't seem quite so long as the ride to the shop, since Mike was utterly absorbed in the harmonica.

"Gee, Mike, if I'd known you were that easy to pacify, I'd have gotten you a harmonica the first day I met you!" Peter laughed.

"Hmmmm?"

"Ah, nothing. But Sara'll get your guitar fixed, you know. She's wonderful."

Mike's oblivion wore off a bit as they left the bus and walked back up to his apartment. The door was shut and locked, just as they had left it. Mike fought down another wave of dissapointment. We've been gone over two hours, they should be here by now...

He unlocked the door, and walked into the apartment. Incredibly, Micky and Davy were perched on bits of the sofa playing cards.

"Nope, no tens. Go fish," Davy said. "Oh, hi guys. Glad you're back."

Mike stood amazed. "How did you get in here?"

"Well, the door wasn't locked, for a start," Davy replied smugly.

"Man, where have you guys been?" asked Micky. "I thought you'd get here before us."

Mike and Peter looked at the pair in disbelief.

"We went to the music shop," Peter answered, just as Mike said, "Where were you?"

Davy grinned. "Well, you two went dashing off over desk and chair, and Micky and I ducked behind a bureau just outside. Luckily the guards didn't see us, and Mr. Eltistwen went off chasing you. So, we went back in his office, locked the door, and--"

"And found this!" Micky crowed, brandishing a file folder full of paper.

"You did what?" demanded Mike.

"What, man, are you suddenly hard of hearing? Anyway, you would be shocked to read this stuff. We were just waiting for you two to come back so we could all go to the police together. You know, one big happy family."

Peter grabbed the file, and began reading through it.

"How did you get out?" Mike asked.

"We took the fire escape," Davy said simply.

"Oh my god," whispered Peter. "You guys read this, and you had enough composure to play cards? I... I can't believe this... Why would he keep these papers? If they're real, they're far too dangerous..."

"I have no idea what you're talkin' about," Mike reminded him. "What does it say?"

"Well, basically," Davy answered, "Peter's reading a lot into 'em. What they are are commerical contracts, like the one for Micky's Holy Shit and Dips or whatever. There're fourteen of 'em. One for each deceased auditioneer. Pretty odd coincidence."

"Someone was killing the guys Eltistwen wanted in ads?"

"Yeah, man, and there's an extra one, for you..." Micky reported.

Mike stared in disbelief. "Me?"

Peter pulled out a Mike's contract and read it carefully. "Yeah, this is for you... well, for Michael Blessing, but it's been voided or something... like he didn't want you anymore."

Mike groaned. "And we can't go ask him about it, becuase security just chased us out of the building!"

Peter sighed. "And Steve even told me he was going in about an ad... he said that... someone wanted to let him know that if the show didn't work out for him, if he didn't get cast, there was a place for him..."

"Yeah, in the grave," Davy interrupted caustically.

"Could someone have been jealous, and killed the guys who were approached with the deal? Someone who was out early?" Mike wondered.

Micky suddenly smiled evilly. "I think it's time for crazy ol' Admiral Mike to have another little talk with Mr. Eltistwen..."

"Even his secretary'd be helpful," Mike said. "She might know something about how somebody could figure out who was getting these deals... Hey, I just got an idea! Say Micky goes back in with the whole Admiral thing to annoy the director... I think we need somebody innocent to chat up the secretary... somebody... female."

Peter shook his head. "Sara won't do it," he announced.

"No, no. Somebody older, and no, I'm not thinking of Mabel. Actually, Pete, I was thinking of you."

~*~

Two hours and one visit to the thrift store later, the group stood once again outside of the television studio. Micky was back in his nautical getup, and Peter was garbed in clothes befitting a nearsighted middle aged woman.

"I don't know how you talked me into this," he complained. "My black eye's going to give me away."

"Keep your hair over it, dear. Now, honey, buck up, and remember to talk right," suggested Micky.

Peter glared at him, but conceeded. In an abominaly squeaky voice, he chirped, "I hate all of you."

"Now, Petah, you know how fake that sounds," admonished Davy. "Not even Micky needed this much coaching!"

"Fine. How's this?" Peter said testily, in a high pitched voice that could have passed as that of a woman.

"Great," Mike said. "Now, boys, get in there and knock 'em dead!"

~*~

The wait was much longer this time, and Mike discovered that his temper was not suted to being left alone with Davy for a time span of longer than ten minutes. He began to think that he might have to get violent.

"Stop me if you've heard this one," Davy began.

"I've heard it."

"You don't even know--"

"I've heard it."

"Oh, c'mon, Mike, I'm just trying to pass the time."

"Pass it quietly."

"You're just upset about your apartment and the fact that you could've been killed," Davy said pleasantly.

"That's right," Mike agreed. "And I'd like to be upset in silence, okay?"

A moment passed, then Davy jumped up and said, "You know, I haven't even talked to Teresa in all the time we've been working on this! She must be worried sick!" He hurried off, probably in search of a pay phone.

He was gone for quite a while, to Mike's relief. He didn't dislike Davy, but just Davy was kind of... annoying.

Surprisingly, Micky and Peter were back before Davy. He spotted them walking nonchalantly across the parking lot towards him, and as they got closer, he could see that Micky was beaming.

"Man, you would not believe what happened in there!" Micky proclaimed. "Why don't you tell him, Pete?"

"Where's Davy?" Peter asked testily. "I'm not going to go over this twice."

"He went to call his girlfreinnd," Mike replied.

Just then, however, Davy reappeared, looking quite forlorn. "She wasn't there. I called everywhere I could think of. I think I've been dumped! I mean, she--"

"Okay, let's just get this over with," Peter interrupted.

"Didn't it go all right?" Davy asked.

Micky grinned. "It went better than planned, but Pete's a little upset that he's made a new friend."

Peter sighed. "We went in, and I don't know how Micky got back in to see Eltistwen--"

"He was enthralled by my aura of insanity, man," Micky interrupted. "But that's not the good part anyway. Didn't tell me anything, just wanted to reinstate the contract."

Peter continiued, "So, while he's inside, I have a friendly chat with the secretary. She's the most displeasing person I have ever met, and when I asked about the deaths..."

Micky grinned. "C'mon, Pete... what'd she say?"

Peter glared at Micky. "She starts telling me which of the guys she thinks had the best butt."

Micky egged him on, "So, which one was it?"

Peter scowled silently at him.

"Aw, man, he's just embarrased to congratulate you, Mike. But I'm not. Miss Preston thinks of all those guys, you have the--"

"Wait a minute," Davy interjected. "When did she see him? You haven't cut a commercial, have you Mike?"

Mike didn't answer. A feeling of extreme embarrasment had blossomed, and he felt himself blushing. He looked around uneasily, but no one seemed to be paying attention to him. Indeed, they were talking about him as if he wasn't even there.

"Mabel showed her Mike's picture, and she recognized him around the studio. It was the hat, she said," Peter explained.

"Really?" asked Micky. "From the way you said she carried on, I thought she regcongnized him by his--"

"Anyway," Peter cut him off quickly, much to Mike's relief. "The upshot of my scintillating conversation was that Eltistwen told the guys that if they didn't have a part in the show, they could always come and do commercials for him. Then she told me that he always offered the guys refreshments... like coffee. Well, at least she complained about always having to go make it."

"Are you trying to tell me," Mike said slowly, "that the ad guy is killing people? Why would he do that? And, if it is him, why would he trash my apartment?"

"He wanted to scare you, man, and maybe scare off Mabel. She must know something, since she told you about him. Maybe he was really after her," Micky suggested.

"But how would he know that she was at my place?" Mike asked.

As that question had no apparent answer, they sat in silence for awhile.

Finally, Mike decided, "I think it's time we get the authorities in on this one. We can tell them what we found out, and they can take care of it."

"No way, man!" Micky protested. "I say we go in there and make a citizen's arrest! Get some gratification!"

"Either way, before we do anything, Petah's probably gonna want to change his clothes," Davy reminded them. "And it probably won't hurt to think about this a little bit more."

~*~

A few short hours later, the group had yet to come to any sort of conclusion about the action they should take. Mike and Peter thought it would be best to call the police and let them handle it, but Micky and Davy were full of high spirits and demanded confrontation. As they walked to the studio, they discussed thier argument.

"Well," Mike said, "I think Peter and I have more invested in this than you guys do, no offense. I mean, I could've been killed, and--"

"Yeah, man, so why don't you wanna go in there and kick his ass?"

"No, I'm just saying that it really isn't our place to do that. We don't even know if it's him for sure. The police can handle it better than we can."

Peter chipped in, bitterly, "Yeah, and they don't have to dress up like women to do it."

The debate would have run on all day, but as the approached the studio, they discovered that the matter had been decided for them.

"Hey, guys, look who's here," Davy said.

Two police cars had just pulled into the parking lot.

"That's totally coincidental, man," Micky protested.

"No, look, Mabel's with them!" announced Mike.

The four stood, stunned, and watched the police rush into the studio, led by Mabel.

Peter watched them go, then said quietly, "Good idea, Mike... taking action while we argue. But when exactly did you call the police?"

"I didn't," Mike said. "I think Mabel did."

Just then, as quickly as they had rushed in, the police re-emerged from Mr. Eltistwen's office with the now-handcuffed ad director in tow.

"Mabel! What's going on?" Mike shouted.

Before she could answer, however, one of the policemen approached them and said roughly, "You boys need to come with us to the station."

"Excuse me," Peter asked, "But why do you want us to come? Are we being charged with something?"

"I don't know, yet," the policeman answered. "But that guy says you lot have been giving him trouble, so you're all going in for questioning."

"I can't believe this," Mike said quietly, remembering his dream.

"Hey, man," Micky protested, "we had good reason for harassing him! He--"

"Micky, not now," Mike said. "We might as well save it for the station."

~*~

They arrived at the police station without incident. Mike was taken in for questioning first, at his own request. Before they took his statement, the police asked the expected manditory questions demanding Mike's recital of name, age, address, phone number, social security number, mother's maiden name, and marital status.

When he had finished, a bored looking policeman instructed him to tell his version of the events surrounding his involvment with the captive. "It's gonna be recorded for posterity, so try not to be a chump. If you want to have your lawyer here, that's fine, just let me know before we get started."

Mike shook his head. "No, that's all right. I'll tell ya know. I don't really know where to begin, though, so I guess I'll just start with Mabel."

He proceeded to tell the policeman the entire story of the past month: how he met Mabel, his later suspicions of her, how his apartment was systematically destroyed, the threat he recieved, the evidence that he and the group had found during the course of the past few days, and he even mentioned taking his guitar in to be repaired. He was too frightened of the consequences to leave anything out, and as a result, his testimony took well over two hours to record.

When he emerged from the interrogation room, the others were sitting silently on a bench.

Davy smiled at him and said, "We thought they'd taken you to court already, you were gone so long."

"Well, I didn't want to forget anything," Mike explained. "You see, I--"

"That's enough socialization!" called the policeman who had arrested them.

One by one the others were taken in for questioning. Once they had all been interrogated, they were again allowed to talk quietly amongst themselves.

"I need to talk to Mabel," Mike announced to the station in general. "Maybe she can explain what's going on here."

"She's still being questioned," a seargent replied.

"No, I'm not." Mabel emerged from one of the doors which dotted the walls of the police station. "Just got done."

"Mabel!" Mike exclaimed. "What on earth--"

"Now, calm down, dear. We don't have to be uncivil. Why don't you introduce me to your friends? I think I recognize this one," she said, referring to Peter.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sorry I thought that you--"

"Now, dear, it's understood. What's your name, hon?"

Mike smiled awkwardly, and said, "This is Peter, that's Davy, and that's Micky. I hate to say it, Mabel, but I... I really thought for awhile... that... but then..."

"It's all right, dear. I didn't exactly do anything to foster your trust. I suppose you're still wondering why I showed up at your door that day, aren't you?"

"Well, I just thought..."

"It wasn't just random, dear. I worked for the studio, you know. In the record division. And I heard some songs by a talented young man by the name of Michael Blessing. Then I found out that this same young man was going to audition for a television show. Well, I went straight down and talked to Betsy, Mr. Eltistwen's secretary."

Although Mike was severely embarrassed by Mabel's proclamation of his talent, he did not begin to blush until this point. At the mention of Betsy, not only did Mike respond by turning a bright red, but Peter moaned incomprehensibly, and Micky and Davy grinned at one another.

Mabel payed them no heed. "I told her that if this young man was refused a part in the show, she should get her boss to cast him in his ads. I just knew that if he got on television, one way or another, that nothing could stop him. So, I brought him to her attention. Then the murders started, and I found out that all those boys had been offered a place in commercials. Betsy and I were very close, and she told me who her boss was considering, you see. Well, I was scared. I thought they'd come after my boy next. So I got myself fired--"

"What do you mean, you got yourself fired?" demanded Davy. "Did you steal something? Kill somebody?"

"Davy, man! Shut up!" Micky protested.

"No, I just thought I'd have a bit of fun with some head games," she smiled. "No need to go into detail. Suffice to say, dear, that it's more entertainng than simply quittying. I had already found out where you lived, and decided the best way to protect you was by being there. I felt responsible, you see, hon. After all, it was my fault that you were pointed out to Mr. Eltistwen."

"So you knew it was him all along? And you didn't do anything about it?" Peter asked.

"No, I didn't know it was him, dear. But I had my suspicions. I called the police after I noticed that the first three boys to 'commit suicide' had all been offered commercials. They've been at work on the case ever since."

"Well," Micky said crossly, "they're a little bit slow."

One of the policemen shouted angrily across the room at him, "That's because we do things by the law, boys. Warrants, and evidence. Not barging into people's offices with tirades or dressing up like somebody's uncle!"

"Who told?" demanded Micky.

"Never mind," said Mike. "Mabel, why didn't you just explain it to me?"

"Would you have beleived me, dear?"

Mike grimaced. "Well, there's a lot of holes in your story as it is. What about my apartment?"

"Now, I don't know why Mr. Eltistwen called on thugs instead of the usual for you, hon. Maybe he knew about me. But when they came, I had to get out by the fire escape. I notified the police, but they didn't know how long the investigation would take. I wanted to warn you, but I was afraid that the thugs might be lurking at the apartment, that's why I didn't come back. And I wasn't sure if you'd believe me when I did, so I didn't want to stay. I know I shouldn't have waited so long..."

None of the group responded to her exposition. Mike thought about how lucky he was that he had Mabel. His reverie was broken by the sound of Mr. Eltistwen being brought out of an interrogation room.

"I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "Those boys were recommended by my secretary, and I trusted her judgement enough to give them an interview. I figured if they'd gotten that far in the auditions, they had something, you know? Plus, Betsy said that she heard they weren't going to be cast. So I was helping them out, that's all I was doing!"

"That's as may be," a lieutenant said tersely. "But you're still being held in custody for the rest of the week. You boys better go home, and get some rest. We may need to ask you some more questions in the morning. And we'd appreciate it if you stayed for a little while longer tonight, ma'am, just for a few more quesitons about the break-in."

~*~

For once in what seemed like a very long time, but had in fact been only two days, the group dispersed to their own apartments. The threat was over, Mike was in no danger of being accosted in the middle of the night by studio thugs, and the other three were looking forward to the sanctity of their own homes. Plus, Micky was worried about Shorty.

When Mike got back to his semi-repaired apartment, he found the emptiness haunting. He hadn't lived alone for over a month. It's too quiet, too still. And there's somethin' about all of this that ain't quite right. Real life doesn't wrap up so neatly.

Ultimately, though, tiredness previaled over his disquietude, and he fell almost instantly into a troubled sleep. His dreams were haunted by sinister coffee, laughing ad directors, and, inexplicably, a large number of llamas.

He awoke to disarming silence in the early morning. Unable to get back to sleep, he got dressed and wandered down the street in search of a newspaper. Might as well get back to the old job hunt, he thought. Something to keep me occupied. He found one on a table outside of the cafe in which he had met Peter, and noted that Eltistwen's capture was front page news. As he flipped idly through the pages, he noticed a short obituary: "Jonathan Wheeling, 20, comitted suicide late last night by ingesting cyanide caplets..."

His heart sunk and his mind reeled. Oh my god. It can't be... how could they have let her go last night... How can I tell the guys? I don't know anybody's phone number. But I do know where Micky lives.... Ripping the article free from the rest of the paper (thereby incurring the minor wrath of the restaurant owner), he ran to the bus station.

~*~

He arrived at Micky's place shortly before 8am, and banged on the door as loud as he could.

"Micky! Let me in! It's me, Mike! Please, let me in! They made a mistake!"

After nearly five minutes of serious pounding, which to Mike's surprise, did not seem to disturb the neighbors, Micky, dressed only in his boxers, wearily opened the door.

"Wha-- Mike? What're you doing here, man?"

"Read this!" he said as he thrust the article at Micky.

After he did as instructed, Micky asked, "Have you told Peter and Davy?"

"I don't know their numbers, I only remembered where you lived. I thought... I don't know what I thought, and I don't know why I didn't call the police. We have to do something!"

"I'll call the police, man," Micky said. "They should know about this now."

"Okay, then we should let the others know, and get down to the station to find out what's going on!"

"That's for sure, man. Hey, come on in, and I'll get dressed and then we'll call everybody."

Mike waited impatiently during the three minutes it took Micky to get dressed. He even refused the attentions of Shorty, who incessantly curled herself around his left leg. When Micky emerged, he called the police and brought the death to their attention, then he notified Peter and Davy, and told them to meet at the police station.

~*~

Not surprisingly, Mike and Micky were the last to arrive at the station, which was in a whirl of activity. Mr. Eltistwen sat in a corner loudly and bitterly announcing his innocence, Betsy Preston had been brought in for questioning, and Mabel was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey, woolhat!" a policeman called to Mike. "How can we find that old lady that was here yesterday?"

"I don't know," answered Mike bitterly. "Why don't you know? You're the police!"

"The number she gave us turned out to be bogus."

Just then, Betsy burst into tears. "It's all my fault!" she cried. "I killed those poor boys, I made the coffee, I gave it to them, I... I..."

"Sounds like a confession," Peter noted dryly. "Oh, hello Mike, I hear that you're taking a little more interest in the papers nowadays."

"Boy, has there been drama while we were waiting for you!" Davy exclaimed. "First Eltistwen starts ranting about how he said that he was innocent, and that he took recommendations from his secretary, so they call her in, and she starts having this nervous breakdown... she says she did it becuase she was sick and tired of having no say, she wanted control over who got in the show."

Mike looked around, thought for a moment and then slowly said, "This isn't right. Where's Mabel? She should be here."

"Yeah, man, she's missing the action!"

Just then the maligned Betsy burst out, "No, I... I... can't. She told me to do it! She said that if I didn't, I'd end up like... like... Martha!"

"Betsy, shut up!" yelled Mr. Eltistwen. "She's hysterical, officers, she doesn't know what she's saying," he explained quickly. "She gets like this sometimes, it's the stress, I keep telling her to take a vacation, but she--"

"Who's Martha?" asked Davy.

"The secretary-- the one that died," Peter answered dully.

Mike sunk to the floor. "It was her. It was her all along," he moaned.

"What do you mean, man?"

"Mabel... she's in on it... and we had her here... Hell, I had her in my home for, for a month... She could've killed me, she--"

"Mike, it's okay, it's not your fault. Come on, snap out of it," Peter said reassuringly. "You don't know that for sure, and even if it's true, the police'll find her, it's their job... it's okay..."

"No, no it's not. I've got to find her!"

One of the policemen walked over to them. "Woah, calm down sonny," he said. "We'll bring her in for some more quesitons, that's for sure, but for now, we don't have enough evidence to prosecute--"

Mike glared at him. "I know. How many more people are gonna have to get killed before you do something? It's over fifteen now, isn't it? My god, what's wrong with you people? Did she cover it up that well? Or maybe you're all in on it, too!"

"Mike! Calm down," Peter commanded sternly. "I'm sorry, officer. He's upset. I'll take him outside. Micky, Davy, you stay here and see if you can figure out what's going on."

Peter led the reluctant Mike out of the police station.

"What were you doing in there? Trying to get yourself incarcerated? They're having a hard enough time without you--"

"Don't accuse me!" Mike snapped. "I thought you'd be more supportive, it's your friend she killed!"

"You think I don't know that?" Peter said quietly. "But getting upset about it isn't going to help anymore. The police will find her, and they'll keep her this time. And they're right, you know. We don't know for sure that it's her. That secretary has been babbling about the last half an hour. She even blamed the Freemasons at one point."

Mike glared at him. Something in the secretary's voice, apart from the hysteria, had chilled his heart and he knew that Mabel was guilty. And that he was guilty by association. If I had believed Peter the first day, I could have prevented two people from dying... could have prevented my place from getting smashed, my guitar... ah, shit... yeah, I am a selfish bastard. But that doesn't let me off the hook... I should have seen, I didn't know anything about her, why did I trust her?

"I'm gonna find her," he decided.

"Mike--"

"No, you can't stop me, I don't know where she is, but I'm not gonna stop looking until I find her. This is my fault, and I'm gonna fix it."

"It's not your fault!" Peter protested.

Mike shook his head slowly, then turned and walked away. Peter ran after him for a short while. "I'll come with you," he offered.

Mike didn't answer, and Peter didn't follow.

"It's not your fault, goddamnit!" he yelled.

~*~

Mike didn't know where he was going, or what he was thinking. All he knew was that he felt incredibly guilty, betrayed, angry, and resentful. He stormed the streets all day, relentlessly asking after Mabel, ruthlessly accosting anyone that he felt, through his haze, looked like her. His anger built rather than subsided as his search proved to be more and more futile. Towards the end of the day, he knew that if he found her, he'd hurt her. Badly. Nonetheless, he persisted, more than half afraid of what he might do. Voices from the past few days ran amok in the back of his mind, providing constant fuel for his torrent of emotions.

Shortly after sundown, he brutally barrelled into a short figure.

"Get the hell out of my way," he growled.

"Mike! Hey, watch it! It's me, it's Davy! They got her, Mike, she's at the station."

This information made Mike stop abruptly. He whirled around, and glared at the Englishman. "What did you say?"

"They found Mabel. It's over, Mike."

Mike's mind was unable to comprehend the information. Automatically he asked, "When did they bring her in? Where was she?"

"They found her with dogs, I think. Peter took 'em to your apartment, to try to get a scent. I don't know where she was. Some motel somewhere... they found her over five hours ago."

"Why didn't someone tell me sooner?"

"Mike, we just found you. We didn't know where you were either. We're gonna meet back at the station in two hours. Come on, we'll be the first ones back."

It's finished...

~*~

Davy filled him in on the story while they trekked back to the police department. "Well, they brought her in, and Betsy accused Mabel of putting her up to killing the boys. Apparently, she didn't want to do it, but she did anyway, and Eltistwen was in on it, too, since he thought it'd be publicity for the show. A popular show demands higher prices for the ads, right? Then Betsy said that they hired some guys to trash your place to scare you away from the case, and--"

"Davy. Slow down. I... just wait till we get back to the station," Mike said wearily.

~*~

When they got there, Mike was reluctant to go in. His emotions were still unstable, and he felt too drained to face any more tumult.

"Let's just wait out here for the guys, Davy," he suggested.

"Whatever you say, I'm certainly in no hurry to hear everybody rant some more."

They waited in silence until they saw Micky walking forlornly toward the station.

"Hey, Mick!" Davy called. "I found him, he's here!"

"You did? You did! Hey, man, we thought you'd gone and jumped off a bridge or something!" Micky said.

Mike looked at him curiously. Thought I'd jumped off a bridge? How stupid, I wasn't that worked up.

A few minutes later, Peter also rejoined them. He saw the three waiting for him, and he practically leapt across the street.

"Mike! You're okay! Don't ever do that again! I thought you'd have killed somebody next, the way you stormed out of here..."

"That bad, was I?" asked Mike dryly.

Davy stared at him in shock, and said softly, "Well, Mike, if you'd seen your face when you left here, you might have been scared, too."

Taken aback by Davy's sincerity, Mike shrugged awkwardly.

Peter came to his rescue. "We shouldn't postpone this any more, guys. We'd better go in."

The police station was, contrary to Mike's expectations, eerily calm. Various officers attended quietly to paperwork, and there was no sign of Mabel, Mr. Eltistwen, or Betsy. Mike walked up to a desk and asked the leiutenant sitting behind it where everyone was.

"They've been taken to the jail. They're being held there."

"Could we go see them?" Mike asked.

"You could, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow. Visiting hours are over."

"Did you take statements?" Mike demanded. "Can I see them?"

"Of course we did, but this isn't a library, son."

Mike glared at him, and was about to lose his temper when Peter said, "Well, with all respect, we do have a personal interest in this."

"Please, man?" Micky added.

The officer thought for a moment, then gave in. "All right. But make it quick." He handed the group a folder of papers.

Mike appropriated them, and sat down in the corner to read them.

"Hey, man, I can't see..." Micky complained.

"When I get done with one, I'll pass it down, okay? Now shut up and let me read," Mike said testily.

He began to read the first statement, that of Mabel, slowly and carefully. Although having his fears confirmed did not hurt as much as he had expected, he still could not bring himself to read past the first paragraph. He kept reading it over and over until he nearly had it memorized... she'd heard his songs, wanted to help him... it seemed that much was true. But he didn't want to find out why she killed the others, and if she had tried to poison him that morning with the coffee. Something about it was too... sick, and he felt some of the same sickness reflected in how he had behaved that afternoon.

Finally, he flung the folder to the ground, and stormed silently out of the building. The last thing he heard was Micky quietly asking, "Does that mean it's my turn to read 'em now?"

~*~

Mike went back to his apartment, and sat alone with his raging emotions. Before too long, however, there was a knock at the door.

"Go away," he growled.

The door opened and Micky peered around it. "Hey, man, don't hurt me. We drew lots and I lost."

"What are you talking about?"

"Who was gonna open the door, man. You know, you really should lock this thing," he said casually. Without waiting for a respone, he walked in, followed closely by Davy and Peter.

Davy looked around at the partially renewed apartment. "Love what you've done with the place," he announced.

Mike stared icily at them. "What is this? Some sort of morale booster? Can't you all just go home and leave me alone?"

Peter smiled innocently. "Mike, I really think you should read things more closely. First you didn't read the papers, and now... well, you're obviously upset about something. How far did you get in that statement?"

"None of your business."

"No, Mike, this actually is...."

"Will you stop being so goddamned cryptic and get to the point?" Mike demanded.

"Okay. The point is, you obviously didn't read them. We did. And she didn't do it, Mike."

"Stop playing these head games with me," he snarled. "First she did, then she didn't, and I know for a fact that she did. I don't know what you're doing, but I refuse to put up with it any more!"

"Mike, calm down and hear me out. I know you've been through a lot. You trusted her, and you're not sure if she betrayed you or not... You're confused, and you have good reason to be. Now, if you'll just be quiet for a minute, I'm going to tell you what those statements said. All right?"

"Fine. Then you'll leave."

"If that's what you want, Mike, we'll go as soon as I'm done. But please don't interrupt, I'm going to make this as simple and clear as possible."

"Great. Now I'm being patronized."

Peter's face fell suddenly, and he bit his lip. He turned to Micky, and said, "You and Davy tell him. I'm going to get something to drink."

As he left, Mike sneered at him.

"Well, man, it's like this--" Micky began nervously. "There were these three secretaries: Mabel, Betsy and Martha. Mabel was a fan of yours and found out about you auditioning for the show, right? She told the others she hoped you got in, and wished there was something she could do to help you, but she didn't have any clout, so she couldn't. Now, this gave Betsy an idea, you dig?"

Mike stared stonily throughout his speech, which threw Micky off balance.

"Davy, could you help me out here, man?"

"Sure thing. Okay, Betsy thought she could get Mr. Eltistwen to draw people that she didn't want to be cast away from the show by bribing them with ads. Now, the other secretary thought the plan sounded okay, but Mabel was a little worried. Bad vibes and all."

Mike laughed bitterly. "So she has morals, now?"

Micky defended her bravely in the face of Mike's causticity. "Yeah, man. The theory turned out to be a little bit skewed in the practice, and she didn't like it."

"The first few guys didn't even accept the ads," Davy continued, just as if he hadn't been interrupted. "So Betsy upped the ante. First she put the poison in their coffee cups, but then a gopher decided to sneak a cup before bringin' it back... and when the other secretary found out about it, she threatened to tell the police. Well, she didn't watch her coffee close enough."

Mike's face contorted in disbelief as Davy continued.

"Then Betsy started to worry, and somehow she got Eltistwen in on the whole thing. He decided it'd be good publicity. You know, controversy sells. If a lot of people tune in for this deadly show, it's gonna cost more to run a commercial during it. Which means, suddenly Eltistwen's got this money machine."

Mike grimaced, and exclaimed, "That's the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard! How can you expect me to believe--"

Micky cut him off. "So Eltistwen's in it for the money now, but Betsy doesn't want the profit any more, she just doesn't want to be caught. Well, man, Eltistwen goes at it gung-ho anyway, and blackmails Betsy into helping him."

Since Mike looked as if he was going to interrupt again, Davy hastily concluded. "Things continued, more people died, we harassed him, he got caught. End of story."

There was a long pause while Mike digested the information. This had better be the definitive version... I don't think I can stand my heart gettin' torn inside out again.

"Where did Mabel find out about all of this? And what about my place?" he asked slowly.

Micky, put at ease by Mike's unspoken acceptance of the story, answered chirpily, "Betsy kept tryin' to sell Mabel on the idea, man, but suddenly Mabel vanished mysteriously... just about the time she appeared on your doorstep. And apparently Betsy did some thinking and decided that, despite the fact she thought that you had the best--"

"You can leave that out, I think," Davy interrupted.

"Well, anyway," Micky continued, "she decided you just weren't right for the show, man. And she thought that maybe Mabel might be protecting you somehow, since she seemed awfully devoted to helping you. You know Mike, it's a pity, you've almost got a groupie, man, but she's eighty."

Mike grimaced, and asked, "So my apartment was trashed at Betsy's orders?"

"Yeah," Davy replied. "She wanted to find Mabel, and Eltistwen thought that a the threatening note'd get you to back off of the show."

So that's it. It's that simple. Twisted, but simple. Mike smiled cynically to himself.

"So I guess we'll be going now," Davy said.

Before Mike could respond, Peter re-entered the apartment. "Hey, Mike. If you're not still mad, I've got something for you."

Mike looked up questioningly at Peter's sudden change in mood. "Do I have to apologize for it?"

Peter smiled gently. "Yeah, that's the general idea. But I think you'll agree that it's worth it."

Mike sighed. "I'm sorry, everybody. I don't know what came over me today. No... I do know. And that just makes it worse," he paused, at a lack for words. "Thank you."

Micky grinned. "Hey, man, that's more of an apology than I thought I'd ever hear from somebody as stubborn as you!"

Davy cuffed him. "Micky! Stop being annoying!"

"I'm not the one who's annoying, you little--"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Now if we could only get you two to make up, we'd be set, wouldn't we? Can you hold off just a minute on poking Micky's eyes out, Davy? Thanks. Okay, Mike, here she is... Sara, you can come in now!"

Mike's face went totally blank from shock as the girl from the music store walked in, gingerly carrying his guitar... now all in one piece.

"But, but you said it'd take a long time," he stammered.

She smiled. "Wasn't as bad as it looked. Plus, Peter told me you needed it in a hurry. It's not quite as sturdy as it once was, and I've no idea how it plays in comparison to how it used to, but you're pretty lucky, all the same, if I may say so."

Mike took the guitar from her slowly, afraid that it might all be a figment of his imagination, afraid that it might fall to bits again in his hands. He strummed it gingerly, and to his surprise, it sounded perfect. He went so far as to pick a few notes, then shook his head in amazement, and looked up at Sara.

"Thank you," he said. "I... I don't know what to say..."

"That's enough, I think. Glad to be of service," she replied, then walked out the door, waving good bye.

"I told you she was amazing," Peter grinned.

~*~

The four did not see each other for a few more days, since auditions were now in full swing, and they spent most of their time reading scenes, doing voice tests, and the like. Mike ran into Peter once in the hall, and thanked him again for his help.

"I should be thanking you, for your help. After all, it was my idea," Peter said, smiling.

"Okay, then thank you for bravely dressing up and talking to Betsy," Mike replied, smiling.

Peter grimaced. "And to think she invited me over for tea! Do you think she knew who I was and wanted to kill me?"

"We'll never know," Mike responded. "And I gotta get back, I'm supposed to 'showcase my musical talent' here in five minutes."

"Are you playing your guitar?"

"Yeah," Mike smiled. "And I'm gonna give that harmonica a bash too. It's really not as hard as it looks."

"Well, good luck!"

"You too."

~*~

Although he was taken in for a screen test, Mike was still sure that he wouldn't get a part. The studio knew nothing about his, nor the others' role in capturing Eltistwen, and security still remembered him as the guy who had lept over a table after being disruptive. So, when he didn't hear from them after a couple of days, he figured that he had been knocked out of the loop. He resumed his daily hunt through the classifieds, and wondered what had become of Mabel. Although he had gone back to the police station and asked after her, the seargent on duty told him that she had dissapeared once again .

One morning, as he was circling a promising ad for a janitorial position, the phone rang. In no hurry, he let it ring a few times before answering it.

"Hello. Is Michael Nesmith there?"

The speaker's somber tone made his heart sink. This is my rejection call, isn't it? Suddenly, the janitorial position took on the menacing air of dreary reality. Slowly, Mike answered, "Yes, speaking."

"I'm Mr. Latdrey, from the studio. I was just calling to congratulate you on your being chosen for the show, and to inform you that you will be meeting your castmates later this evening."

Mike blinked in surprise. "I-- I got it?"

"That's right, son. Now, if you could get to the studio around seven tonight, that'll help you keep it."

"Okay, I'll--"

Just then, Mr. Latdrey hung up on him.

I wonder if any of the guys got in? Mike thought. I can't call them... and I wouldn't know how to break it to them anyway... I guess I'll just have to see...

The entire day stretched before him as an unbearably long torture. Although he told himself that it was just to pass the time, he pored over the still-whole contents of his wardrobe for two hours. When he had finally decided on apparel, he figited idly for an agonizing five minutes, then decided to put his nervous energy to work.

He sat down with his guitar, and a pen, in hand. Although his mind was a rush of thoughts and emotions, he had no ideas for a song. Suddenly the thought hit him that he could write about the events of the past week.

Your coffee kills, he wrote. Then thinking of Mabel, he added, Your coffee smells.

He laughed at this, and discarded the idea. Instead, he whiled away the hours extemporizing tunes.

~*~

The walk to the studio was by now a short and familiar one. However, as he approached it now, in the dusk, it looked somehow more threatening than it had when it was full of murderers. Still, he could not help but think of the extraordinary experiences he had just been through. You were killing people... because you were trying to sell ads...

Pushing the troubling thought aside, he entered the studio. To his surprise, the first person he saw there was Davy.

"Mike! Did you make it?"

"Yup. I guess you did, too?"

"I sure did! I haven't seen anyone else yet, but this is already better than I'd expected."

They were shown to a waiting room, and Mike jokingly told Davy about the coffee lyric.

"That's funny," Davy agreed. "I think you should have Micky dressed up in there somewhere. If you put Petah though, he'd probably get upset."

"Yeah," Mike laughed. "I can call it 'Admiral Mike'."

Just then, Micky walked in. "Why, if it isn't my errant nephew who tells people I'm insane and don't really run a fish shop! Man, you both made it too? Trippy!"

Davy grinned. "We were just talking about you, Admiral!"

"I know, man, I could hear you gossiping in here."

"Too bad Peter didn't make it," Mike said.

"How do you know he didn't?" Davy demanded.

"Well, it'd be too strange if we all got in... like it was rigged or something. I do feel sorry for the poor unwitting sap who has to put up with the two of you together."

"Me too," a voice said from the opening door.

"Peter!" Mike exclaimed. "Don't tell me--"

"Actually, they sent me in to tell you all to go home. I'm the only one that got in," Peter announced. It was clear from his broad smile, and the laugh in his voice, however, that he was only joking.

~*~

The years passed, and Mike never heard from Mabel again. Indeed, the events of that tumultous week buried themselves in the back of his mind and refused to resurface clearly. Each day, though, he perused the obituaries in an admitedly morbid habit borne of his experiences. Still, either she had managed to dodge his eye one morning, or she had left town, as he never saw her name in print.

One day, as he was cleaning out a box of his old things, he came across his first guitar, and smiled at the still-solid repair job that had been done all that time ago. Also buried in the box was a now-rusty harmonica, and a scrap of paper upon which was scribbled: Your coffee kills, your coffee smells.

It threw him for a second, and he scrambled to place its significance... Admiral Mike, he remembered suddenly, and smiled. As a matter of fact, he had a harsh little tune in mind right now that was in need of some words...

So he sat down, and took up his old guitar.