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Spike G.A. Chronicles #2

By

Anna M

   Hi, me again. Spike, G.A. I have a few minutes peace—knock on wood!—so I thought I’d jot down another exploit of the Hip, Bell-Bottom Undercover Patrol. Now, don’t get me wrong: I’m still glad I chose to remain with Dobey’s Boys instead of accepting a transfer to the Imaginary Friend Division, but this last little caper just about did me in. I mean, didn’t they think about this when they gave me a team to look after insteada just one officer? Somewhere up there in the G.A. Command Center, some idiot forgot that even Curly and Blond Bombshell get separated from time to time. And G.A.’s are good, but there’s a limit to our powers, ya know? But I’m gettin’ aheada myself.

   See, it started when Mr. Grin-a-Minute and Mustache interrupted a 2-11 in progress. Yeah, I’m pickin’ up on all this cop jargon. Tell me, why is it always a robbery that initiates some of their worst diasters? Anyway, these two kids were burgling this house. You coulda blown me over with a sneeze when I saw that little girl wielding a piece. I tried to warn Blondie. Hey, whispering ‘Amnesia’ in his ear worked, so this time I tried something a little more complex, but "Get the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of her way or wing her, durn it!" didn’t fly. He couldn’t shoot her. Stood there like a Renaissance statue and took the bullet. Then I realized I’d been trapped in a memory of ‘Nam. I mean, over there little girls could be working with the VC and pull a machine gun on ya, but here in Reality Land, I couldn’t have shot a kid either…even just to wound her. Even if she was danged and determined to put me outta commission—which is exactly what registered in her eyes when she drew down on the White Knight and pulled the trigger. Now why didn’t I just push him out of the way, ya might ask. Well, lemme gripe a little bit. See, the G.A. Tribunal—our version of Internal Affairs, God help us!—had torn me a new one for pushing Curly’s arms and steering us into that shack. Apparently, we G.A.’s ain’t ever supposed to make direct physical contact or interrupt the natural process. Whatever. My point is: if we can’t exert physical influence, why the Inferno do we exist in the first place? I had to do something, so I got behind the little girl and started jumping up and down, hollering like a banshee, and blowing out air like the wolf trying to huff-and-puff the little pigs’ house down. Must have been the displacement of air, but the little girl trembled just enough that her aim took the bullet out of range of the blood pumper.

   Still, I briefly thought I’d lost both of ‘em. Because for a minute my senses didn’t register New York’s heartbeat. Now I’d long since subscribed to the belief that if one of ‘em really did buy the farm, the other would soon be there to help mend the fences and raise the cows. Then Curly barreled into the hallway and went down on his knees, and I sagged in relief. Okay. Still can salvage something out of this mess. Then it hit me. Sitting there in the ER waiting room, while Curly received comfort from that sweet ole grandmotherly type, I realized that Burrito Boy would never chill out at the hospital once he knew the patient was out of danger. Oh, no, he was already gettin’ that retribution glint in his sapphire eyes. That look spells one thing and it starts with a T. What was I supposed to do? I had one guy with a bullet less than half a foot from his heart and the other with a tremor in his get-even nerve.

   Then Dobey got the bright idea of tacking a new partner onto Curly. Thought my dark-haired detective was gonna blow a gasket. I decided right then and there that the trauma docs probably had Mr. Softhearted under control so I’d better follow Trigger Finger and his beautiful new lady cop around. Just to make sure he didn’t, ya know, do or say somethin’ stupid ‘cause he was so worried about his blond half. He sure as spittin’ tried. Riled every one of Miss Class Act’s worst instincts. The doofus didn’t realize what a good thing he had goin’, having her to help him out. Now, I got a macho streak, too, sometimes. No doubt about it. But enough was enough! These two needed to work well together and keep each other safe so I could get Metro’s prize team back together again. Well, Ms. No-Nonsense took it upon herself to solve my problem. Got him out of the car and whupped what the ladies consider his famously well-shaped butt. In a manner of speaking. But just when I thought she had Curly’s "Me Cop, You Female" reflex silenced, I saw a different light in those blue eyes and I coulda shook him. Hormones, yet! Not the time for it, Brooklyn.

   Which brought me to another dilemma. What to do when my guys start hurtin’ each other—without me doing the instigating like the Amnesia stunt. I mean, not physically of course, but emotionally. I don’t care how durn fine her…um…physical manifestations are, that "My partner’s filled in plenty" crap was totally uncalled for. I could tell Blondie felt that little jab worse than the bullet that had him laid up in that bed in the first place. All he wanted was a little attention, a little reassurance that everything was going down okay out in the big bad world where he couldn’t protect Curly for awhile… and maybe there was a little something else too. One moment I caught a glimpse of something in those expressive baby blues that made me think maybe…. Naw, can’t be. I am not gonna play Cupid. Ignore it, Spike. Not your province. So anyway, Curly leaves Blintz high and dry and hurtin’ and I got to figure out, yet again, which o’em needs me most. With Casanova’s tomcat instincts at high idle, I figured I better stick close to him. Not that Meredith looked under-eager. She kept throwin’ him looks that made me wish I’d never set foot in ‘Nam and got my fool self killed. Sheesh: enough with the Mating Dance already, can we catch the crooks and get you and Blondie under the same roof again so my job becomes worlds easier???

   Why did I open my big mouth? I thought Ms. Professional Law Enforcement was a cool head. She was just as anxious to play Lone Ranger as her new boyfriend. And then I did a mental backflip. Where in Tartarus is her G.A.? I should have a partner here! That would make it a heck of a lot easier to split my time between my heroes. So I sat and meditated until Clarence popped into vision and I gave him the third degree. My luck would have it that her G.A. had been called away on an emergency crisis of some galactic import and the Command Center was in the process of selecting a replacement. Oh, Terrific! So I debated the merits of cleaving myself in two because Ms. Bay City Beautiful was about to walk into that house carting a TV and pretending to be half her age. I jumped out of the car to follow her in when Clarence appears again and shakes his head, reminding me who my priority is. Well, priorities be da—oops. Priorities be hanged already! She’s gonna be a sitting duck and Spike never, ever turns his back on helpin’ a lady. Period. Curly can just sit tight and behave a few minutes, right? So I pushed by Clarence, wagged my finger at him in my best Blintz-Means-Business imitation, and trotted right on behind Mata Hari. After watching her do such a good job, I relaxed, and started to think all three of my humans might survive this little shindig. Then my trouble antenna vibrated. Oh, Cripes. I abandoned the set-up-in-progress and just about spit my heart out my mouth when I got my first good look outside. The pint-sized assassin was in the neighborhood. No way would she not spot His Royal Buffness over there. Great! The Tribunal will have my badge yet.

   Okay, time to try out the telepathy thing. I bore down hard on my brain and hummed, "Duck, Blue Eyes. Get down in the seat so you’re not visible." Then I realized with a groan that he was too busy thinking about Meredith for me to get through. Come on, Romeo, zip your mental pants up long enough for me to squeeze a message in. Failed. Okay; Plan B: try to distract the kid. So I did. And lemme tell ya if I’d been visible they coulda made a Buster Keaton comedy outta me. But it didn’t do any good. Long and short of it is, both of my cops ended up in that house with their life meters dropping rapidly.

   So I left. Now wait a minute before you hop all over me! I didn’t have a choice. With all these confounded restrictions on my movements, there wasn’t anything I could do in this situation so I had to enlist help. I really needed the Nordic Genius, but I thought I wouldn’t get through to his pain-shrouded brain any better than I broke into Curly Top’s. Blondie would need a jump-start, so I had to get another human involved. Dobey! That’s the ticket.

   I found his G.A. happily thieving potato chips right under the captain’s nose whenever Dobey had his back turned. I decided the captain just might not be getting as much food as Edith and everyone thought. I mean, with a G.A. who resembles Wimpy the Hamburger Fanatic from Popeye cartoons, the man can’t be netting but about half the food in front of him at any given time. I cleared my throat several times and distracted the thief’s eyes from the ham and cheese sandwich by the chips.

   "What? Hey… aren’t you supposed to be with--" He paused with a chip halfway to his mouth.

   "You need to get a message to Dobey."

   "Huh?" Munch. Munch.

   "Your telepathy. Tell him Starsky’s in trouble and he needs to call Hutch."

   "I’ve never… I mean…" Munch.

   "You’ve never used telepathy with him?! What do you do all day, eat?"

   "Well, look who I’m guarding!" Sounds of insulted munching.

   "Okay, look. Just quit eating for a minute and concentrate really hard. Just get him to call the hospital and talk to Hutch about Starsky. Somehow. I’ll be at the hospital and smooth the way for Blondie to leave."

   "Leave!? Hey, isn’t letting one of your humans walk out of the hospital against orders contrary to your mission statement?"

   "Yeah, well, I’m a maverick." I turned around and fled the premises.

   I don’t know how he managed it but eventually the call came through. I perked up my ears and heard Dobey’s gruff voice barking about not having seen Starsky and wondering if Hutch had. Bingo! Blond Hero’s alarm-o-meter went off the mark. Now I just had to make sure he could get out of the hospital without being stopped by some officious orderly, nurse, or well-meanin’ doc. So while the White Knight hauled his pained self to the closet for clothes, I peeked out the door and examined the escape route.

   Uh-Oh. Trouble. Nurses gathered at the station gossiping about something. I ducked back in the room and decided Mustache had things under control so I set about creatin’ a diversion. At the opposite end of the hall I found a cluster of IV stands and dived right in, kicking them about and making a general clatter. Nobody saw me do it, but the noise probably carried all the way to San Fran and pretty soon the gossiping nurses had something else to think about. While they were scratching heads and setting things to right, Blondie slipped down the hall and I tore off after him. Whew! Part one of the rescue campaign accomplished.

   I tell ya, folks. One of these days, Golden Boy’s gonna make a mighty fine G.A. He didn’t need a whole lotta help once he got clear of the sick house. But then he was a man on a mission! And I started to rethink my dismissal of what I’d seen earlier in those baby blues…. I did manage to squeeze a mental message past the pain that he didn’t need to make this a solo stunt, so we ended up picking up Dobey and Wimpy, who snarled at me for forcing him out of his comfortable little office. I mean, this guy gets by being a G.A. and the Tribunal stays on my butt all the time! Go figure. Thankfully, Dobey was all too happy to help. Maybe he’ll rub off on his G.A.

   When we finally busted into that house, I could tell the situation was about to get downright nasty. And now that he’d saved the day, the Fairhaired Conqueror was starting to look like yesterday’s garbage. But he kept looking at Sapphire like he couldn’t get enough of him imprinted on his soul. And Curly’s attention was still split between him and Ms. Poster Child for Women in Law Enforcement. Sigh… And then…then I got another flash of intuition.

   A blonde woman with the smile of an angel and the soul of a demon. Standing by smirking while fists were thrown…. Oh, no! No!

   So let me tell ya, when I got hauled in front of the Tribunal this time, I had a few words for ‘em. Blasted ‘em right off their unpressed wings. Told ‘em I understood all the gripes and groans outta my boys about having to work in the parameters of rules and regulations that tied their hands behind their backs more often than not. I’d gotten a glimpse of some pretty nasty stuff in their future and I’d be hanged if I would stand by and watch ‘em suffer. The Tribunal would have to reconsider the limitations on my powers. Oh, and could they lend me a copy of the Cupid Manual? I needed to do some research.

THE END