Disclaimer: This story was written for entertainment
only. No money is being made from
it. No infringement on any copyright(s)
is intended.
© 07/2001
Captain Harold Dobey sat in his car for a while
after arriving home. The interminable day behind him was a blur of confusion,
irritation, and unbelievable events. Whatever could go wrong, had. After he sat
motionless for ten minutes, Edith Dobey came out to the driveway with a smile
and a curious look for her husband.
"Harold?" she asked tentatively. His
big hands still held onto the steering wheel. He looked up at her, thinking she
was his safe harbor. He could get out of the car and leave this ridiculous day
behind him now that she was there.
He opened the door and stepped out to give his
wife a hug and a soft kiss. "Hi, baby."
She returned the hug and then stood back and
held him at arms length, studying his troubled features. "I don't have to
ask you if it was a rough day. Come on inside, I kept your dinner warm."
Following his wife, his big hand holding her
small one, he left a palpable wake of frustration behind him. He shook his head
wearily. This was only Monday.
When he was seated at the dinner table, picking
over his pot roast and those red potatoes Edith made because she knew they were
his favorites, his wife asked, "You want to talk about it?"
She was answered by a grunt. "Hmph."
Seeing he wasn't ready to speak yet, Edith went
out to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. She joined her husband
at the table and sat in silence, drinking the warm liquid and waiting for some
sign that communication was forthcoming.
"Where are the kids?" he finally
asked.
"Cal is over at Robbie Templeton's and
Rosie is at my sister's house. They're working on something for girl
scouts."
No children in the house and Harold Dobey was
too tired to enjoy the quiet. When he finished his dinner, he asked Edith if
she would make him a martini. That's when she knew this had been a day unlike
most. Her husband rarely drank anything harder than beer.
Edith brought the drink to the living room. Her
husband liked his martinis just like James Bond, shaken, not stirred with a
whisper of vermouth. He took the drink gratefully and smiled when she settled
on the couch next to him. He put a strong arm around her shoulders and sat,
quietly enjoying her presence and his martini for a while. His wife patiently
waited for him to share whatever burden he was carrying.
Captain Dobey finally asked a quiet question,
"When did I lose control?"
"Control of what, honey?" Edith asked.
He took another sip of the drink and added,
"Of them."
Edith needed no further explanation;
"them" meant Starsky and Hutch. Some days with the dynamic duo were
pure exasperation. She sat back and listened while her husband explained the
day's events.
Earlier
that day....
The squad room doors swung open sharply as Ken
Hutchinson gave them a hard shove. He stormed into the room in a few long,
angry strides. First, he retrieved a bottle of aspirin from his desk. Next, he
opened the bottom of the piggy bank he and his partner shared and he shook out
several coins. After replacing it, he turned to stalk back out of the room and
ran up against his captain.
"Something wrong, Hutchinson?" Dobey
asked. His office door was ajar. He had heard the squad room doors slam open
abruptly and seen the blond detective's dramatic entrance.
Hutch looked up at him, surprised that he was
there. "No." Sometimes Hutch could be tight lipped and Dobey guessed
this was going to be one of those days. He stood his ground, an immovable
object in front of the angry younger man.
"Sure looks like it. Where's your
partner?"
Hutch seethed. "Cap, will you please excuse
me? I said nothing's wrong."
"Is Starsky all right?"
"Yeah. He's just terrific. Now excuse
me." Hutch feinted to the left, then easily sidestepped the older,
heavyset man and quickly strode out to the hallway, Dobey's bellowed call to
return falling on disinterested ears. He looked inquisitively at the other
officers in the room. Everyone shrugged. They had all given up trying to
second-guess or even figure out their two colleagues long ago. Resigning
himself to waiting until his hotshot team returned to get his answers, he went
back into his office in time to hear the phone ringing.
"Dobey."
"Captain Dobey, this is Attorney Jason
Carley down at the D.A.'s office. I need to talk to you about two of your
men."
Dobey sighed, knowing which two men he meant
without needing to ask. "All right, which two?" He played the game
anyway.
"Starsky and Hutchinson."
"What about them?" He cringed as he
reached into his desk for an antacid tablet.
"The dark haired one..."
Dobey interrupted him, "That's
Starsky."
"Fine. Sergeant Starsky got into an argument
with one of our staff attorneys, Rick Delaney, down at the courthouse today.
They were standing by the stairs yelling at each other. I'll admit that Delaney
was out of line. He was pretty angry and he shoved your detective. Starsky lost
his balance and fell down a short flight of stairs."
Dobey interrupted again, "Was he hurt?'
"He was stunned for a minute or two and I
think he twisted an ankle. That's not the problem though. The problem is with
Hutchinson. He needs a new nickname. My staff is calling him ‘The Blond
Menace’."
"What'd he do?" Dobey could well
imagine what had happened next.
"He grabbed Delaney by his suit coat and
tried to install him as a new fixture in the nearest wall, that's what. The man
was so terrified, I wouldn't be surprised if he wet his pants."
The captain had a fleeting remembrance of
Hutch's words from several years ago, "Never pick on a man's
partner."
"Did he hurt Delaney?"
"No, just scared the crap out of him.
Hollered at him and told him he'd better never go near his partner again. Geez,
you'd think the guy meant for Starsky to fall down those stairs. Dobey, you'd
better get that man under control. He's like a ticking time bomb."
Dobey could understand that assessment of the
darker detective, but Hutch? Maybe when he felt his partner was threatened, but
otherwise? "The man attacked his partner, Carley. I'm sure it's nothing
deeper than that."
"I don't know about that, Captain Dobey.
You'd better get your men under control though."
"Sounds like maybe you need to do that with
Delaney, too." Dobey wasn't willing to accept all the blame without
speaking to his officers first. When they hung up, he felt his blood pressure
rise.
Several minutes after the phone call, he heard
his detectives coming into the squad room.
"Starsky, Hutchinson, get in here!" he
hollered out to them. Shortly, they appeared in his doorway. Starsky had a
bruise on his face, and he was leaning on his partner. Hutch had one arm around
Starsky's waist and the other hand was holding a soda cup from the machine down
the hall.
"You want to see us, Cap?" Starsky
asked.
"Get in here and close that door!"
Hutch helped his limping partner walk over to
where he could deposit him in a chair, reaching behind him as he passed to shut
the door with his foot. Dobey was flabbergasted. How many times had he yelled
at the other one for that maneuver?
"Hutch!"
"Sorry, Cap." He smiled a little
sheepishly. He handed Starsky the soda cup and then took a protective position
seated on the arm of Starsky's chair. His tightly strung demeanor resembled
that of a mother grizzly guarding its cub.
"You want to tell me what the hell is going
on with you two? I just got off the phone with Carley from the D.A.'s
office."
"Cap, I just...." Starsky started, but
the blond immediately interrupted him.
"Starsk, I'll...."
"Come on...."
"No way...."
"Hutch, 's my...."
"Ours...."
"Okay, well don't forget...."
"Right...." Hutch reached down and retrieved
the soda cup from Starsky, finishing it off and them crumpling it into a ball.
Captain Dobey was ever amazed when these two
held one of their shorthand conversations. Sometimes they forgot that everyone
else in the room had no idea what they were going on about and it was
maddening.
"Cap, that idiot wants to plea
bargain!" Hutch blurted out as if Dobey would know just what he meant.
"Delaney," Starsky clarified.
"Right. No way, Cap. We worked too
hard..."
"Months..."
"Yeah."
Dobey rubbed a hand over his tired eyes.
"What case? You wanna fill in all the blanks the two of you just
left?"
Two pairs of blue eyes met and a silent
conversation was held.
"What's
the matter with him?" Hutch's
eyebrows climbed a notch.
"Who
knows?" Starsky
shrugged
"You
want to take it?" Hutch
glanced at Dobey, inclining his head slightly in the other man's direction.
"Ankle
hurts. You do it." Starsky
shook his head slightly and then darted his eyes toward his feet and back to
meet his partner's gaze. Then he raised one eyebrow and jerked his chin toward
Dobey.
"Right."
Hutch nodded and
turned to face Dobey again.
Captain Dobey felt the blood pounding in the
veins of his temples. His face clearly reflected his mounting anger. Hutch was almost
startled by the look on his face. He opened his mouth to continue the cryptic
story, then stopped and asked a question instead.
"You all right, Cap? You don't look so
good."
That was more than Dobey could stand. "Get
out of here!" he yelled. "And stay away from Delaney!"
Both detectives were stunned. "Hm,"
Starsky muttered. He looked up at Hutch, silently requesting his assistance.
Hutch gave him a hand to his feet, then took up his position to help the
limping man back out to the squad room. As they opened the door and stepped
through it, Dobey yelled one more time.
"Hutchinson!"
The blond turned. Dobey continued, "Take
him home."
"Thanks, Cap. See you tomorrow." They
left their captain's office without further comment. Dobey realized he had none
of the answers he wanted. He reached for another antacid tablet as he muttered,
"When did I lose control of those two?"
"Ow!" Starsky complained
as Hutch tried to position his ankle so the ice bag would cover all of the
swelling. "That hurts!"
"I'm sorry," Hutch said.
"You move it, then. Turn this way a little."
Starsky did, grimacing. Hutch
settled the ice bag and took a seat in the chair. Starsky was on the couch, the
bad ankle propped on a cushion.
"You sure we shouldn't get that
X-rayed, buddy?" Hutch asked. "I don't like how it's swelling. It
could be broken."
"It ain't broken," Starsky
growled. "It's just a wrench. I do it all the time."
"Okay, okay," Hutch said.
"Geez, you're a bear when you're hurt."
"Am not," Starsky said.
"You're the one who's a bear when you're sick or hurt. Impossible to live
with." Before Hutch could protest, Starsky added, grinning, "Speaking
of being a bear, I thought you were gonna draw and quarter poor Delaney
today."
"Poor Delaney? That worthless scum
knocked you down the stairs -- " Hutch began, getting angry all over
again.
"And your reaction was more
like mine would've been than the usual cold Nordic rage you display,"
Starsky said, deadpan.
Hutch opened his mouth to answer but
laughed instead. "Cold Nordic rage?"
Starsky grinned. "No wonder
Dobey was hitting the antacid so hard while we were in his office. You and me
switched roles."
Hutch chuckled. "Just when he
thinks he's got us figured out, we pull something like -- " He stopped
suddenly.
"What?"
"I just had an idea."
"You wanna do it on
purpose?" Starsky guessed accurately.
"Dobey's 30th anniversary on
the force is coming up," Hutch said. "Let's call some of the guys and
all of us drive him crazy over the next couple of weeks. That'll keep him busy
enough so he won't notice we're planning a big surprise party for his
anniversary."
"Are we planning a big
party?" Starsky inquired.
"We are now," Hutch said.
"Thirty years on the force is worth a party, isn't it?"
"Sure it is," Starsky
said. "'Specially since he made it this far in one piece."
"Yeah," Hutch said.
"So let's throw him a party. But the only way we'll keep it a secret is if
we keep him too busy to notice what's going on. And the way we're going to do
that is to drive him totally nuts."
Starsky gave a slow, evil grin.
"I'm in."
Hutch made a few phone calls to
other officers he and Starsky knew would enjoy the joke and told them to come
up with a few pranks to play on their captain in the next couple of weeks. Then
he called Huggy to order food for the party. "Where are we going to have
the party?" he asked of Starsky when Huggy asked him the same question.
"I don't know," Starsky
said. "We don't have a decent place at the station and neither one of our
apartments is big enough. Huggy's?"
"How would we get Dobey to
Huggy's without him getting suspicious?" Hutch demanded.
"Good point. We'll have to come
up with something later."
"We don't know yet, Hug,"
Hutch said into the phone. "We'll let you know."
The next morning, Starsky turned up
early, a half hour earlier than Hutch, and he was eating a plain bagel and
drinking orange juice. He was wearing a neatly pressed pair of dark denims and
a sports shirt. Dobey stared at him when he came into the squad room for a fresh
cup of coffee, but didn't say anything.
Hutch showed up a good 15 minutes
past the time he was supposed to report for duty, wearing a badly faded and
frayed pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His hair was less than neatly combed and he
was drinking Dr. Pepper and eating a glazed donut. This time Dobey did more
than stare.
"Hutchinson, you're late!"
he bellowed.
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that,
Cap," Hutch said with a grin and a wave of his donut.
"Where did you get those
jeans?" Starsky hissed under his breath.
Hutch grinned. "Salvation
Army," he whispered back. "Where'd you get YOURS?"
"Stole 'em from you,"
Starsky said. "You left 'em at my place."
Hutch chuckled. "I'm surprised
they fit."
"They don't," Starsky
said. "They're too long."
Dobey reappeared, looking frazzled.
"Do we pay you two to eat?" he demanded. "Why aren't you out on
the street?"
"Reports, Captain,"
Starsky said with an innocent expression.
Dobey opened his mouth, closed it again,
and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Starsky and Hutch
both laughed.
"It's working," Hutch
said.
Starsky wrote the reports they'd
neglected, as usual, for several days, taking care to be as flamboyant as
possible. Hutch looked over his shoulder, alternately making suggestions and
criticizing, until they had all of them done. They piled them in Dobey's in
basket and left.
"He's going to flip,"
Starsky said.
Dobey fumed as he read the reports.
When he got his hands on Starsky...then he froze. It was Hutch's name signed to
these reports. It sounded like Starsky's writing, but that was Hutch's
signature. He shook his head. He needed a vacation.
Simmons and Babcock came into the
squad room shortly after lunch. Simmons got coffee for both of them and they
sat down to catch up on their own reports. Dobey came in, carrying a tray from
the cafeteria loaded down with food. Simmons jumped up to open Dobey's office
door for him.
"Thanks, Simmons," Dobey
said absently, going into his office with his load.
Babcock motioned to his partner.
"I'm no good at this stuff," he whispered. "What do I say?"
"Just write like it was a bad
novel," Simmons whispered back.
"How the hell do you write a
report of a burglary as if it was a bad novel?" Babcock demanded.
Simmons sighed and went around to
look over his shoulder. "Okay. Here. Where you said 'the suspect is a
Hispanic male' say 'the bandit is a Frito Bandito wannabe', for instance."
Babcock shook with suppressed
laughter. "I hope we don't get fired for this stuff."
Simmons grinned. "I feel kind
of sorry for the old boy, but maybe he'll forgive us. Eventually."
It was late in the afternoon before
Starsky and Hutch returned. By then Dobey had received a large stack of reports
written in pulp novel style. He'd eaten a whole handful of antacids and downed
a few aspirins to boot.
Hutch was singing "Love Potion
No. 9" at the top of his lungs as he and Starsky came in, and he wasn't
making any effort to sing it well.
"Can the noise, Starsky!"
Dobey bellowed through his open door.
"I'm not making any noise,
Captain," Starsky said, pausing to look in. "That's Hutch."
"Then tell Hutch to can
it!" Dobey bellowed.
Starsky winced and backed away.
"You heard the captain," he said to Hutch.
Hutch stopped singing, but his eyes
were dancing. "Hey," he said to Starsky, loudly enough to be heard by
their captain in his office, "I'm starvin'. Gimme a quarter."
"What for?"
"A candy bar, moron."
Starsky bit his lip to stifle the
laughter and dug in his pocket. He handed his partner a quarter, and Hutch
strolled out to the hall, whistling merrily.
"I said, can the noise!"
Dobey bellowed again.
Hutch came back with a Milky Way,
already eating it. Starsky resolutely refused to watch, because that was his
favorite candy bar and he wanted a bite so badly he could almost taste the
candy already. But that would've blown their whole act, so he refused to look.
Dobey stalked out of his office, hat
on, ready to leave, but broke his stride when he caught sight of the blond
detective, feet up on the desk, contentedly munching a chocolate bar. Starsky
kept his eyes down, going over his notes -- Hutch's notes, actually -- on the
calls they'd answered that day.
Hutch grinned and waved with the
candy bar. "Night, Cap. See ya tomorrow."
Dobey shook his head, wearily rubbed
at his eyes, and left without a word. As soon as they were sure he was gone,
Hutch gave the rest of the Milky Way to Starsky. "I hope my delicate
system survives this little charade," he said.
"It will," Starsky said
confidently. "It might even do ya good."
"Sure it will," Hutch
retorted. "At least, it hasn't killed you yet. So what are we going to do
tomorrow?"
"I've been thinking about
that," Starsky said.
"Beautiful," Hutch said with
a sigh. "You're a dangerous character when you start thinking."
"Ha, ha," Starsky said,
making a face at him. "You wanna hear the idea or not?"
"Yes."
"You know how the way we talk
to each other drives him nuts?"
"You want to do it all the time."
"Yup. That might be enough to send him to
the department shrink."
Hutch laughed. "That's cold, man. He might
pop a vessel or something. We'd better be careful, heavy as he is, his blood
pressure's probably already too high."
"You think we should let Edith in on it?
She might be wondering why we are torturing her husband," Starsky asked
with a twinkle.
Hutch agreed. "Yeah. Why don't you call
her? She might even have some suggestions."
Starsky did call Edith. She told him how Dobey
had reacted to their antics the day before and was amused that the events gave
them the idea. Reassuring them that they needn't fear for the big man's blood
pressure, she encouraged them to go ahead. She even admitted to Starsky that
their idea regarding pulp fiction novel styled reports was a stroke of
brilliance.
"One day he told me, 'I hate that Mickey
Spillane style Starsky uses for his reports. Why can't he just write in plain
English?' " She was laughing and Starsky could imagine the flash in her
eyes.
Edith was a great sport. She promised to try and
be the captain's emotional tether during this trying time and also said she'd
call Huggy to help with the plans. Starsky asked her to come up with a good
idea for a present also.
"Before we go, let's go in his office and
make some modifications," Hutch said with a glint in his eye.
"What kind of modifications?"
Hutch led the way. They went through Dobey's
office, rearranging things. First, Starsky cranked his chair up so high the
captain's legs wouldn't clear the space under his desk. Next, Hutch took his
coffee cup while Starsky took all of his paperclips out of their container and
hooked them together in one long string.
"That's enough for now. Not too much on one
day. He'll kill us." They were both laughing as they turned out the light
and headed home.
Heading down the hall, Hutch said, "You're
still limping. Sure we shouldn't get that ankle x-rayed?"
"I'm sure." Starsky laughed to
himself. No matter what they were doing, Hutch always had time to be a mother
hen.
The next day went similar to the previous one.
The two detectives completely switched roles. Hutch was talkative, telling
jokes, and provoking high jinks in the squad room. Starsky was reserved, quiet.
He scolded his partner to quit being such a big kid.
Captain Dobey couldn't find his coffee mug.
"Where is it?" he asked himself aloud. "Great. I'm talking to
myself." He got up and went out to the squad room to retrieve a new cup
and get some coffee. While he was in there, the man pretending to be David
Starsky caught him for some conversation about a case. While Starsky distracted
him, Hutch slipped into Dobey's office and put his coffee mug back on his desk,
right where they had pinched it from the previous evening.
Dobey walked back in, looking at the neatly
prepared report Starsky had just handed him. When he tried to set his coffee
down without looking, it clinked into the cup he had just been trying to find.
He shook his head with exasperation, thinking he must be losing it.
Starsky and Hutch left to go interview some
witnesses.
"I miss my faded jeans," Starsky
groused as he limped toward the passenger side of the Torino, tossing Hutch his
keys.
"Well, I miss my old diet. We're gonna have
to bring some lunch back and I'm not sure I can face another beef
burrito."
"With onions," Starsky added.
"What about me? I'm starving. How do you chase bad guys down alleys and
bust open doors while living off that rabbit food you eat? You don't eat
enough."
"I eat plenty, dirtball. The body is a temple."
The look on Hutch's face caused Starsky to collapse in laughter.
"Keep it up, buddy. You're getting better
at telling jokes," he said as he wiped tears from his eyes.
"I wasn't joking," Hutch said deadpan,
leaving Starsky to wonder if he was or he wasn't.
When they returned to the station, they brought
their lunch. Dobey bellowed for them first thing and they brought their food
with them into his office. Things were going great. Hutch made it a point to
shut the door with his foot on the way into the room.
"Now, I've just about gotten your partner
broken of that habit. What's with you, Hutchinson?"
"Sorry. I'm workin' on it," Hutch
said, parroting Starsky's words uttered so many times in response to that particular
admonishment.
Starsky shot a disapproving glance at Hutch and
said, "You wanted to see us, sir." He had a hard time keeping a
straight face while saying it. Dobey just glared at him.
When they were seated and working on their
lunches, Dobey asked, "How'd it go with your witnesses?"
"Fine," Starsky said without
embellishment. He took a bite of his veggie special on whole wheat and tried to
look enthusiastic about it. He was trying hard not to pout at the lack of meat
in his lunch. Somehow, alfalfa sprouts always left him cold. Thank God Hutch
had been known to drink soda. He at least was able to wash it down with
something other than goat's milk. For his part, Hutch sat and pretended to be
enjoying a carne asada burrito with extra onions and guacamole. He was dreaming
about the antacid chaser he was going to need, especially while slurping down a
chocolate shake.
They needed to discuss the case with Captain
Dobey. Several witnesses were balking at testifying against Joe Nicholas, a
swindler with known mob connections. The man was out on bail pending his trial.
While interviewing one man, Starsky had seen Nicholas sneaking out the back
door as they entered. He was certain the man was threatening their witness.
"Cap," Hutch started, "we think
we saw something today, but we're not sure we saw what we saw, you know?"
He reached over and tried to snag a slice of cucumber that had fallen out of
Starsky's sandwich and received a smack on the hand from his partner for his
trouble.
Dobey looked at him in disbelief.
"Well, what Hutch means is..." Starsky
started.
"Don't forget..."
"I won't."
"I mean, if you saw what I saw..."
"Yeah, I know, I know. Gimme a
minute."
The captain followed the half spoken-half implied
conversation like he was watching a tennis match. This was getting ridiculous.
The connection these two had served them well on the street, but they knew how
crazy it made him in his office. This was the second time they'd done it this
week.
"Now listen, you two. I know you don't need
to say about half the words you do say to each other, but what would you think
about SAYING ALL OF THEM ANYWAY!?"
Starsky looked innocent. "Were we doing it
again, Cap'n?"
"Sorry, Cap," Hutch said.
They had even switched their short hand for the
captain's title. They didn't dare look at each other for fear one of them would
blow it. Instead, they held their meeting with Dobey, doing just enough
shorthand speak to keep him edgy, but not so much as to cause him to yell
again.
When they returned to the squad room, Hutch
found a message waiting for them from Delaney. He wanted to see them both over
at the D.A.'s offices right away.
"What's that about?" he wondered aloud
as he passed the message to his partner.
"Maybe he wants to apologize."
"I'm sure."
Before they left the precinct, they checked in
with some of the other pranksters. Simmons told them Dobey was yelling about
the quality of their reports the whole time Starsky and Hutch were gone earlier
in the day.
"He was ready to blow a gasket,"
Babcock said, laughing.
"I pinched his hat a while ago. When he
leaves tonight, he's not going to be able to find it," Simmons added.
"I'll put it back after he's gone."
"We've gotta go to a meeting. When he
leaves, one of you go in there and tune all of his radio channels to either
Mexican stations or that station with all of the ultra-conservative talk
shows," Hutch suggested.
"That's cold." They all laughed about
it.
"Starting tomorrow, we all stop talking every
time he enters the room," Starsky said.
Babcock shook his head. "I sure would hate
to see you two give 'the treatment' to somebody you don't like."
"I got a million of 'em." Starsky
smiled over his shoulder as they exited.
They left the station and headed to the District
Attorney's offices at the courthouse. When they arrived, the receptionist
directed them to a conference room on the third floor and told them Delaney
would be in to meet with them shortly. Starsky sat with his throbbing ankle propped
up on a chair while Hutch paced. The room was enormous, overkill for just three
people. Hutch was starting to wonder if they were being set up for something
bigger than a small meeting.
Delaney entered the room five minutes later
wearing a sheepish look. He saw Starsky's foot propped on the chair and said,
"Uh, how's the ankle?"
"I'll live," Starsky answered coldly.
"Look, Delaney, what's the big idea?
Whatever you've got to say, get on with it. We've got places to be." Hutch
took several steps toward the attorney, who took two steps back from him and
indicated he should sit. Hutch complied, taking a seat between his partner and
Delaney.
"I know you cops and we here at the D.A.'s
office don't always agree," Delaney started.
"Really," Hutch said, his voice full
of sarcasm. "You’re surprised we don't like it when we spend months
setting up a sting to catch a guy using kids as numbers runners and you plea
bargain the guy for someone you think is a bigger fish?"
Starsky just glared at him, allowing Hutch to
take the initiative this time. He was hoping Hutch could hold his temper better
than he had the last time the three of them "chatted" about this
case.
"We're not going to solve that problem,
Hutchinson. You boys in blue do what you have to do, and we do what we have to
do. Sometimes the system stinks. I didn't call you two down here for
that." Delaney was exasperated with Hutch's demeanor. He had hoped to have
his say before the barbs started to fly.
"Then say it," Starsky ordered.
"All right, hotshot. I just wanted to
apologize."
Starsky
and Hutch exchanged a surprised look.
"You did?" Hutch said.
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I was out of line. You
guys were mad, too, but what I did was wrong. I was angry because I didn't like
it any more than you did. I just took it out on you. I have a boss, too, you
know. I have to follow his orders." Delaney looked sincere.
"Thanks, Delaney. I know I shouldn't have
yelled at you, too," Starsky said.
Delaney extended his hand to Starsky, who shook
it graciously. "You sure that ankle's okay? I really didn't mean to push
you so hard."
"Don't worry about it."
Hutch had no intention of apologizing for
sticking up for his partner. Delaney figured that much. He put his hand out to
Hutch anyway and said, "You're pretty intimidating when you're mad. You
know they started calling you 'The Blond Menace' over here."
Unable to suppress a smile at that, Hutch took
his hand and said, "Good. Guess that'll keep anyone else from messing with
my partner. They know they'll have to answer to me."
The three men sat and mended fences for a while.
Then, Starsky had a great idea.
"Hey, Hutch. I was thinking...." he
said that as his eyes swept the large room.
Hutch picked up on it before he finished.
"Yeah, this might just work."
"You think they'd allow it?" Starsky
asked.
Delaney had no idea what they were talking
about, so Hutch explained, "Over at Metro, we're trying to put together a
surprise party for Captain Dobey. He will have thirty years on the force in a
little less than two weeks. We were wondering where to have it though. You
think they'd let us use this conference room?"
"I don't see why not. I'll ask. That's
great. Is he retiring?"
Starsky looked unhappy at that thought. "I
hope not. We just got him all broken in. Sure would hate to have to start from
scratch."
Hutch said, "If they say we can use the
room, will you help us get him over here?"
"Sure, what do you have in mind?"
Starsky's eyes lit up instantly. He knew exactly
what Hutch was thinking. "This meeting we're having never happened,
Delaney. We're gonna have it again the afternoon of the party. Only this time,
you and me are gonna stage a fight in here. When he busts in here to stop us,
we'll have everybody in here waiting to surprise him. Whatdya think?"
"That's great! Remember, Hutchinson, this
is only going to be a fake fight. No need to throw me out the window or
anything." The look in Delaney's eyes told Hutch he was only half joking.
That gave him a sense of satisfaction.
Delaney promised to call as soon as he had the
green light for the space.
"Starsk, I'm running out of crappy
clothes," Hutch said as they got back in the car to head home.
Starsky burst out laughing.
"Poor baby. Want me to lend you some?"
"Very funny. How long do I have
to dress like a refugee?"
"Until the party," Starsky
said. "How do you think I feel? I don't have much except crappy clothes.
And I don't want to ruin the nice clothes I do have if I wind up chasing some
whippo into a dumpster or a roach-infested tenement."
Hutch grinned. "Let's
compromise. Let's both dress somewhere in between Early Poverty and GQ. We'll
still go on acting our parts, but we'll be more comfortable."
"I can deal with that."
Dobey couldn't find his hat when he
wanted to leave, though he was sure he'd left it on the coat rack in his
office. It simply wasn't there. He looked everywhere, getting steadily more
frustrated and short-tempered.
Simmons and Babcock, hanging around
outside to fiddle with his radio after he left, heard the commotion.
"I feel kind of sorry for
him," Babcock whispered to his partner.
"Don't," Simmons said,
grinning. "You'll blow our cover."
Finally, Dobey stalked out of his office,
clearly in no mood to be trifled with. Both detectives -- and Jack Hill, who
had innocently wandered in to retrieve his own misplaced sunglasses -- suddenly
discovered important things they had to do on the other side of the room, in
order to leave their fuming captain a clear path out of the squad room.
But Babcock couldn't resist a last
little jab. "G'night, Cap," he called after him.
Dobey muttered something exceedingly
rude under his breath and left the room without a backward glance. The three
detectives could finally give in to their laughter.
"Oh, man," Hill gasped,
when he could speak, "if he doesn't kill us all before this is over, I'm
gonna be really, really surprised."
"If he catches on, remember it
was all Starsky and Hutch's idea," Simmons said, wiping his eyes. "We
is innocent."
"Like foxes in a
henhouse," Babcock said. "He won't buy that for a minute. We'll all
be walking a beat, I guarantee you that."
Edith was in the process of
transferring a roast from pan to serving dish when she heard the front door
open and close with far more force than was necessary. Since her daughter was
practicing the flute upstairs and her son was hanging around the kitchen in
hopes that he'd get a tidbit before supper, she knew it had to be her husband.
The eyes of mother and son met for a
moment.
"Dad's home," Cal
announced with a warning tone in his voice.
Edith suppressed a smile. So far the
kids weren't in on the joke, and she didn't dare tell them what was going on
until the day of the party. One of them would be sure to let the cat out of the
bag.
"I heard," she said
calmly, finishing her task and handing the dish to Cal. "Take this into
the dining room. Don't drop it and don't steal any rolls while you're in there.
Then go call your sister."
Cal sighed as if he spent his whole
life doing nothing but work and carried the roast to the dining room. Then she
heard his voice bellowing up the stairs, "Rosie! Supper!"
Edith winced, and sure enough,
Harold's voice came out of the study at roughly the same decibel level as a
rock band, "Quit shouting, Calvin!" Edith allowed herself a chuckle,
since she was alone in the kitchen at the moment. Cal came by his yelling
naturally, at least.
The flute music stopped and in a few
moments Rosie came tripping down the stairs. Edith heard her say, "Hi,
Daddy! Where's my kiss?" Edith went on into the dining room and found Cal
just reaching out to snag a roll, but when he saw her, he yanked his hand back
and tried to look innocent. Harold came in carrying Rosie and looking
marginally less angry than he had sounded a moment before. She smiled at him.
"How was your day?"
Cal shot her a look of chagrin that
she ignored.
Harold set Rosie down and took his seat.
Picking up the knife and fork, he began carving the roast with what amounted to
savagery. "I'm beginning to wonder if I run a division of detectives or a
madhouse!" he growled.
"What happened?"
"Hutch is dressing and eating
like Starsky. Starsky's dressing and eating like Hutch. All the men are turning
in reports with phrases like 'the whippo was armed with a Saturday night
special' and I can't stop LOSING things!"
Rosie stopped with her fork halfway
to her mouth and stared. Edith made a motion at her and the child went back to
eating, but she was gazing at her father as if she'd never seen him before.
Cal, for his part, was fascinated with his own plate and never raised his eyes.
"Everyone has a bad week now
and then," Edith said soothingly.
"This is more than a bad
week," Harold said, stabbing a hunk of roast beef as if it were his
recalcitrant men. "They've all gone nuts at once. Or maybe I have."
"Have you talked to them?"
"Of course, I've talked to
them!" Harold glared at her, then smoothed his face. "I didn't mean
to raise my voice. Yes, I've talked to them. I've ordered them to stop writing
their reports like cheap dime store novels. But what can I do about Starsky and
Hutch? It's not against regs to act weird."
Edith allowed herself a smile.
"Probably a silly bet," she said. "Maybe Starsky dared Hutch to
eat burritos just to prove they wouldn't kill him. Or Hutch dared Starsky to
eat bean sprouts. It'll blow over."