A bouquet of roses and lots of thanks to Solo and SHaron for all their help scanning and proofing these classic stories of Constance Collins! This story originally appeared in the zine The Fix no.8 which can still be obtained from In Person Press.

Comments about this story can be sent to: VenicePlaceAngel@aol.com

Committee Meeting
by
Constance Collins

Clandestine Report #48
Det. Sgt. D.M. Starsky

Willets had H cold and I shot him, not thinking about what filth he was and that it'd be nice to just blow him away, make there be one less creep on the street for nice girls to worry about. All I was thinking about was keeping my partner alive.

Willets wasn't hurt that bad -- just a shoulder wound: H applied first aid while I called an ambulance. While we waited for it to arrive we went back to talking about the recent vigilante murders of Adams and Blake and Billings.

"Good thing you didn't kill him, Starsk. Next thing you know, IA'd be putting you under their microscopes, maybe even listening to Garner's veiled accusations."

"Veiled, hell. There was nothin' veiled about what Garner was saying about me."

"It's your own fault, going around being a disgruntled idealist."

I sighed. "You know, if I had killed him, it'd be a perfect in with -- "

H put his hand on my arm and I stopped and we looked at each other, same thought at the same time. "Starsky -- "

"Hutch, it's perfect - all we gotta do is get Dobey to back us -- " H was giving me a killer look. "Well, how else are we gonna find out who's behind these vigilante killings? You write your report like I shot Prince Charming here just 'cause he's filth I couldn't stand to look at -- " H was looking at me like I was nutso. "We could have a great big public fight -- I'll slug you, we'll stop speaking -- "

"Does that mean I wouldn't have to listen to you, either?"

"Yeah, well, what's wrong with my idea?"

H sighed, a where-to-begin? sort of sigh. "Has it occurred to you how dangerous this would be? You'd have no back-up, you've got no idea what kind of people you might be dealing with -- "

"Killers, Hutch, I'd be dealing with killers." I motioned at Willets. "You think that's better or worse than this garbage here? An' as for the danger, well, danger is my business."

H shook his head. "That's it, Cool McCool, no more Saturday morning cartoons for you. Next thing you know you're going to get yourself a big white horse -- "

"Silver bullets're too expensive, an' anyhow, you're the one wants to be the White Knight. Anyhow, you could never pass for my faithful Indian companion."

H grabbed my arm, looking at me seriously. "Starsky, this idea's a crazy one; Dobey's never gonna go for it, and even if he did -- "

"An' even if he did what?"

"And if he does, be sure you pull your punch, ok?"

Which was Hutchinson for he'd back me up somehow, even if he had to wallpaper himself and blend into the woodwork. It made me feel better, somehow, in spite of the contrary sound of it.

I heard the wail of the ambulance and motioned to H. This part was gonna be tricky -- getting Willets patched up and taking him to some hiding place while this whole trip went down; taking him to the hospital and sneaking him out again was out of the question -- too many chances for people to see him. And there wasn't much chance he wouldn't play along -- he was scared to death of the other bad guys. This was the only sure protection we could offer him, short of sticking him behind bars -- and if a judge and jury kicked him free, he'd be right back in the same spot, a great big bull's eye painted on the back of his head.

So I let H deal with the paramedics while I talked to Willets. Haven't seen such suspicion on anybody's face since I tried to talk Mary Louise McKnight to go to Catalina with me. Willets could see how bad his position was, but he wasn't gonna just go along with us nice and easy.

"So how do I know this isn't some kinda set-up?"

"If Hutch and me wanted you dead, we'd'a shot you before the paramedics got here and come up with our own explanation. It's not like there'd be a hundred'a your closest friends banging down the Commissioner's door, demanding an investigation. You'd just be one more dead low-life on a slab."

That seemed to satisfy Willets: after the paramedics fixed him up, he hid in the back seat of my car. I didn't much relish having a slimeball like that at my place, but neither H or me could think of any place safer, less conspicuous. An' like H said, I could always have the place sprayed after he'd gone.

end