Kay gave me dictation again...she's headed to L.A. to find out what's up with the Munchkin.

OK, Howard, you've got to be half out of your mind to make a trip halfway across the country on a hunch. But it was like the time Agnes' ghost showed me where the weapon that killed her was. I just couldn't shake it. And things are different now, anyways. Nothing like two bullets in the heart to stop you screwing around, you know? Let Beau cover for *me* for a change.

(I didn't tell him why...just cause he tells me about every twitch doesn't mean the impulse is mutual, huh?) "Aw, Jesus, Howie," He says, giving me a puppy face that would put Bayliss to shame, "Do you have to take time now? I've got my hands full with these stiffs, well, not literally."

Mean or not, I've got one weapon and I'm gonna use it. "You should have thought about that when you let me go in first," I say, winking to show I'm just breaking balls.

"I'll do anything to make that up to you, Kay!" he says, being all intense. "I knew I was wrong...why'd you lie to me, Howie?"

"Male egos are fragile, huh? And if you had a relapse, I wouldn't want that on my head...orphaning those poor kids. Just hold down the fort...I don't actually expect you to be good as me, or anything."

He makes a face...I'm kinda glad. Since I've been back, it's been like a movie of the week in here. Still, beats hell out of a funeral.

I actually start to well up myself, when Timmy, the only one I've told about my little mission, hands me an envelope with $100 in it."You need it more than I do," he says in that simple way he's got.

"I can't take this, Timmy." I say, "It's a helluva lot more than eleven cents." I know that stupid bar isn't making nickel one, yet, and besides I'm stubborn Irish. The way I grew up, you don't take money, ever. I try to give it back...he doesn't take it...we'd probably still be standing there, if some twinge didn't remind me I was in no shape for the island solution of "work until dead,"

"Tell you what," I say. "Run me a tab, huh?" And I take the envelope.

He nods like I've trusted him with the crown jewels, and I can feel the waterworks starting up again. I hold back, though it isn't easy, and I'm not sure why...it's not like Tim would mind...the worst moment would be if he hugged me or joined me, or something.

But the squad's not the place for it. "I'm sorry," I say. "One of the medications I'm on makes me real sensitive to these damn fluorescents."

He pretends to believe me. I guess after swallowing Frank's bull, what's a little more?

Oh, man. Kay's going after John?

Dude.

Yeah...don't really know what's gonna happen.

If he bites her? I'll kick his ass.

No doubt...but if he did that, nobody would hate him more than him.

Oh, my - a battle of Munch versus Munch for the soul of Munch?

Do we get interference from a Slayer in here anywhere, do you think? As in Kay, having to take Buffy off to the local Starbucks for the "look, kid..." talk?

Today's drabble theme was success/failure (I suggested it, in fact!).

First entry:

If At First

There is something surreal about stumbling upon dead flesh.

It's worse if the flesh was lately living; cheeks still mantled in the pale rose of scant moments ago, veins still indigo, eyes open as if in surprise, lips still warm. To find dead flesh that, until the breath stopped in lung and throat was the flesh of a loved one, is pure hideous darkness. Natures offers no crueler joke.

Buffy shakes her mother, tries to force her own air into a motionless throat, hears the sickening crack of a rib as she pushes.

Death being what it is, Buffy fails.

A little more... "I hope you find him," Tim says.
"I never thought I'd say this,"I say, "but I hope I find him in bed with a blonde, a brunette, and...their sisters."Somehow, I just couldn't say "redhead". Did Tim notice? He gives an impression of being on a different planet than the rest of us...I hope he was getting messages from the mothership that minute.
"The important thing is not to worry," Tim says.
"Detective, heal thyself," I tell him.
I'm just blown away by the scope of L.A. Precincts. And they've got more light than us...I could solve any case if I could look at the sky from my desk. I feel like I'm in good hands till I meet "my" detective. Detective Lockley looks like she graduated from modeling school...what topless beach did they drag her off of, I wonder. "May I help you?" all flat. Jeez, don't strain yourself, huh? I'm not exactly local.
Maybe I'm keeping her from her manicure or a "cleansing mud pack".
John and I watched this talk show one time where a woman got one...and it just cracked us up. And we were sober, too, it was just comical civilian bullshit. Sometimes, when Russert is..well, being Russert, John will turn to me and whisper "Cleansing mud pack, anyone?" He made me swallow my gum...I would really miss that.

(come on, Kay, flip your Homicide badge and scare the kid)