Starsky threw the Torino in gear and pulled out into
the flow of traffic, his face grim with anger. Hutch dared a sideways glance at
his partner, hoping Starsky wouldn’t see the smile beginning to crinkle the
corners of his eyes. Fortunately, Sam,
whose canine face perpetually wore a look of amusement, chose that exact moment
to pop his big head over the back seat, creating a diversion until Hutch could
get his urge to laugh out loud under control.
“I don’t wanna hear it,” Starsky warned. Sam’s eyes darted back and forth between the
two men, reading their moods and body language. Tense…
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” The silence was uneasy, as Hutch bit back
the words, ‘I told you so’. Sam, unsure
of the reason for Starsky’s bad mood, sensed now might not be a good time to
try and join them in the front seat. He
backed off, instead, planting his butt on the back seat and quietly waited for
the tension to pass.
“What ever happened to professional courtesy? Huh?
I mean, we are both cops,”
Starsky complained.
Hutch considered his words carefully, realizing
whatever he said wasn’t going to set well with his partner. Perhaps honesty was the best policy. “If
you hadn’t been speeding, he wouldn’t have stopped us.”
“I was on police business.”
“Oh, give me a break, Starsk. I don’t see how you can call our going to
pick up a pizza, ‘police business’.”
Hutch peered over the top of his sunglasses, waiting for Starsky’s
predictable nonsensical response.
“Well, we have to eat, don’t we? We’ll be on duty in an hour. I don’t think it’s too much to ask that we
should have some dinner before loggin’ in.”
Having recognized the word ‘eat’, the eager dog decided to rejoin the discussion. This time, he inched over closer to Hutch,
though. At the moment, the blond seemed
to be more approachable than Starsky.
A wry smile played upon Hutch’s lips, as he reached
up and leisurely scratched Sam under the chin.
“That’s a pretty big stretch, pal.
Besides, the speeding ticket isn’t the issue here. What you’re really in trouble about is,
driving without a license. Better hope
Dobey doesn’t hear about it.”
“I’ve got a license. It’s just expired a little,” Starsky retorted.
“A little?
How does a driver’s license expire ‘a little’? That makes about as much sense as saying a woman’s ‘a little
pregnant’. Starsk, you were supposed to
get it renewed last month—before your birthday!” No longer able to hold back, Hutch blurted out, “I told you to
get your driver’s license renewed, but you never did it. So you don’t have anyone to blame but
yourself.”
Starsky whizzed in and out among the cars,
skillfully dodging fenders and bumpers as he went. “I hate it when you say that.”
“Say what?”
Hutch feigned a look of innocence.
“You know what… ‘I told you so’. You ain’t exactly torn up about this, are
ya?” Starsky cut his eyes toward Hutch
and gave him an ‘I dare you to deny it’ look.
In an effort to disguise an impending smile, Hutch
licked his lips. He failed
miserably. “Not really,” he confessed. Infinitely glad to see someone smile, Sam snaked out his big tongue and gave Hutch’s left
cheek a good washing.
“Okay, smart-guy.
We’ll go right now.” Starsky did
a 180 turn around, causing cars behind, and on either side, to screech on their
brakes, in an attempt to get out of his way.
Sam careened across the back seat, hanging on for dear life with both
front paws. Despite this desperate
endeavor, he still collided with Starsky’s shoulder before losing his grip and
sliding down onto the back floorboard.
“Starsky!
Look out, will ya!” Hutch clung
to the dashboard like a drowning man to a lifesaver. “If you have an accident while driving with an expired license,
they’ll throw your butt in jail!”
“Don’t get your shorts in a wad, okay? I’m drivin’, not you. My license may be expired, but that doesn’t
mean I can’t still drive circles around you.”
Just then, he realized Sam’s face had disappeared from his rear view
mirror.
“Sam?”
Starsky’s eyes shot worriedly from left to right, covering the whole
back seat via the rear view mirror. He’d become downright attached to the big
lug. What if he’d flown out the back
window when Starsky was doing that tricky maneuver? “Hutch, where’s Sam?”
Hutch leaned over the back of the seat and made
instant eye contact with Sam, who for reasons of self-preservation, was
cowering in the floorboard. He decided
it was as good a place as any to wait for whatever storm had Starsky riled up,
to pass.
“He’s on the
floorboard. You scared the crap out of
him!” Hutch hoped this realization would shame Starsky into slowing down.
“Sam? Sam,
come on up, boy,” Starsky coaxed, hanging his right arm over the back of the
seat, groping for the big dog’s head to give it a pat.
Cautiously, the black and rust-brown noggin began to
rise. First, only coal-black brows,
then two huge, worried, chocolate-drop eyes.
Soon, his whole head eased up and rested on Starsky’s shoulder, nuzzling
against his cheek.
Despite his bad humor, Starsky couldn’t resist
smiling. “Sorry ‘bout that, Big
Dog.” He scratched the dog’s
flopped-over ear with his right hand while continuing to maneuver the Torino
with his left. Something about this
enormous, innocent critter always got through to the tough cop, bringing out
his soft side…the one that few living beings had witnessed, aside from
Hutch—and now, Sam.
Starsky slowed the car down as they approached the
driver’s license office, then whipped into the parking lot and took the first
available slot. Deciding it was safe to
surface all the way, Sam climbed out of his hiding place. The big dog reclaimed his throne on the back
seat and eagerly waited to be told he could join them on whatever mission they
had in mind.
“You comin’?” Starsky asked Hutch, as he opened the
door and hopped out of the car.
“You can’t get your license in thirty minutes. We’ll be late for work. And we’ve got that briefing with Dobey and
the Commissioner on the Connors case.”
“How long can it take to get my picture taken and
fill out a little card, huh?” He
rounded the front of the Ford, and opened Hutch’s door. “Come on, Blintz. You’re wasting valuable time whinin’. I’m tellin’ ya—piece ‘o cake. In and out.
You’ll see.”
Reluctantly, Hutch stepped out of the car while
Starsky rolled down the windows for Sam.
When Starsky closed the door, Sam visibly drooped, disappointed this
would be a ‘stay and wait’ stop. Then
Starsky reached into his pocket and dug out a large milkbone, slipping it to
Sam as a peace offering. He bent his
head through the window and spoke softly to the dog.
“Be a good boy and wait here, okay? Somebody’s got’a keep an eye on the Tomato,
and as I see it, you’re the best man for the job.” Sam licked him on the hand before accepting the biscuit, then
settled down on the seat to enjoy his snack.
Hutch followed Starsky up the sidewalk to the State
Department of Motor Vehicle Building.
As soon as he opened the door, they were met by a long line of people,
most wearing dour expressions, impatient from having stood in line too
long.
“This is hopeless, Starsk. Let’s go. You can come
back tomorrow, after our shift is over.”
“Now wait a minute, will ya? I can get up to the counter. You won’t have to wait long.”
“What are you—?“
Before Hutch could finish his question, Starsky had
bypassed the line, and confidently swaggered up to the counter. Wearing what he perceived as his most
appealing smile, he took out his badge and presented it to a perky little clerk
with wide, expressive eyes, and a friendly smile that prominently featured a
wide gap between her two front teeth.
Never to be undone by such details, Starsky poured on the charm all the
heavier. The clerk was overtly
flattered by the attention of someone with Starsky’s dark, good looks.
“May I help you?”
Her voice was soft, and more than a little nervous.
Starsky tried to inconspicuously read the plastic,
engraved name badge pinned cockeyed on the pocket of her plain, brown uniform
shirt. “Well…uh…Debbie, I’m sure you
can,” he began. Leaning on the counter,
his weight on one elbow, he looked down at the homely little face. “You see, I’ve got a little problem. I have to renew my license, and I’m gonna be
late for an important meeting. Police
business, you know.” He smiled again,
dazzling the impressionable young woman even more.
“What’s the problem here?”
The clerk seemed to physically shrink before
Starsky’s eyes, as a grim looking, granite-faced woman came up behind her. The broad-shouldered woman wore her drab,
gray hair pulled back severely from her face, drawing attention to a dark,
‘larger than life’ mole in the crevices beside her left eye. Her uniform was starched stiff, every
crease in place. The name badge,
emblazoned with the moniker ‘Henrietta Bernstein, Supervisor’, was—unlike
Debbie’s—straight enough to calibrate a carpenter’s level by.
“This…this…gentleman…I mean…officer…” Debbie
stuttered, and teetered back and forth on first her right, then her left foot.
Starsky smiled at the formidable looking woman,
redirecting his charm. “I was just
tellin’ the young lady here, I have a police emergency, and I need to get my
license renewed.” He tossed a smug look
over his shoulder at his partner before continuing.
Hutch’s eyes rolled back in his head as he watched
Starsky embark on “The Impossible Dream”—friendly, red-tape free, service from
a civil servant.
Snatching Starsky’s badge from his hands, the
imposing woman squinted through the thick bifocals perched on the end of her
nose, and examined it with the scrutiny one might give a rare artifact. Then, unexpectedly, she slapped it down on
the counter and shoved it back toward him.
“You’ll have to wait your turn, Officer…Starsky,”
she announced with an authoritative tone, loud enough for the rest of the
customers to hear.
His smile diminished only slightly, as he decided to
try another approach. “Starsky…Detective Starsky,” he corrected. “I don’t think you understand. Ya see, I’ve got this important meeting with
the Police Commissioner and my Cap’n in thirty minutes; and my license,” he
held the laminated card up before her as he talked, “is a little expired.” Starsky leaned forward and lowered his
voice, conspiratorially. “And…well…I got a ticket on my way to work, and I
can’t report in ‘til I take care of it.”
He hoped to appeal to her more understanding side, as he offered his
most engaging smile. After all, they both worked in law enforcement.
“No, I don’t think YOU understand. You shouldn’t have let it expire in the
first place. Pretty irresponsible for a
hotshot detective, if you ask me.” With
that, she yanked the driver’s license from his hand. “I’ll have to keep this, for now.”
Starsky’s mouth dropped open, speechless for once,
as he stared in horror at the indomitable woman who now had possession of his
driver’s license.
“Now get in line with everybody else, buster! We don’t play favorites around here.”
Once he recovered his voice, Starsky blurted out, “Hey! Wait a minute! What do think you’re doin’?”
“This license is no longer valid. I’m impounding it.” She glared back at him defiantly.
Realizing his error, the dark-haired detective said
a little more kindly, “Look, let’s be reasonable, hmmm? How am I supposed to get to work? You wouldn’t really wanna get me into
trouble with my Cap’n, would ya?”
“That’s not my problem, Officer Starky. I suggest you get in line now, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll still have time to
make it.” With that, she marched back
to her own station.
Starsky pointed his finger at her and fumed, “Come
back here! Give my license back!”
Ignoring his outburst, she loudly announced, “NEXT!”
The timid little clerk looked up at him meekly. “Sorry…”
Defeated for the moment, Starsky left the counter
and headed toward the end of the line, where Hutch had so wisely held his
place. However, he walked right past
his partner, signaling with the jerk of his head for Hutch to follow.
Hutch was silent until they neared the Torino. He looked over at his partner’s sullen, red
face. Not sure if Starsky was angry, or
just embarrassed, Hutch reluctantly asked,
“So, are we leaving? What’s the
deal? And what was all the shouting
about?”
“That…that…oversized, army tank, took my
license! She just took it!”
“What?”
Hutch had watched the exchange from a distance, but hadn’t realized
she’d actually taken Starsky’s
license.
“I’m tellin’ ya, she just took it and kept it!”
Spotting them from the car window, Sam began his
seat dance, hoping to speed up their journey back to where he faithfully stood
guard over the Striped Tomato.
“So, what next?”
Hutch picked up his pace to keep in step with Starsky, whose agitated
gate widened with each stride.
“I guess I come back after our shift. Hopefully, Herr Commandant won’t be here!”
They reached the car and came to a halt beside the window where the dog
stood wagging his tail deliriously, and contemplating a headstand, if
necessary, to get their attention.
Hutch’s lips twitched, as he extended his hand to
Starsky, palm up.
The other’s brow arched quizzically. “What?”
“Give me the keys.”
“No way,” came the adamant refusal.
“Be reasonable, Starsk. We have ten minutes to make a twenty minute drive, if we have any
chance at all of getting to our meeting on time.”
“I don’t see how you can get us there any faster
than I can. I mean, what’s the
difference who’s drivin’?”
“The difference, my friend, is that if I get stopped
for speeding, I get a ticket. You get
stopped for speeding—twice in the same day, and
without a driver’s license, they’ll haul you off to jail.”
Starsky snorted disgustedly and slapped the keys
into Hutch’s palm. He rounded the front
of the Torino and went to the passenger’s side. Never one to be choosy when it came time to greet one of his
humans, Sam bounded to that side of the car and jutted his oversized forepaws
out the window, his tail beating a tattoo on the seat while he waited. First
come, first served, was his motto.
Even in his present, sorry mood, Starsky didn’t have
the heart to scold the affectionate beast.
“Hey, boy. Jump in back.” Starsky patted the Rottie’s head, then
waited for Sam to evacuate the seat before opening the car door.
Hutch slid in behind the steering wheel, dropped his
shades over his eyes, and started the ignition. He chanced a glance at Starsky’s profile and, as expected, saw he
was none too pleased about relinquishing his keys. Hutch knew he was just asking for it, but couldn’t resist razzing Starsky a little. He stomped the gas pedal, revving the
engine, watching the tach shoot up into the red zone.
“Hey, watch it, will ya!” Starsky scowled.
“Oh, sorry…” Hutch said, with little conviction, as
he floored it again.
“Knock it off!
This is a delicate piece of machinery here. Ya got’a show a little respect.”
Sam’s head popped over the back seat just in time to
give Starsky a big, juicy, unwelcome, kiss.
Hutch laughed at the serious frown on Starsky’s face as he tried to fend
off the dog’s affectionate overtures.
“Sorry, Starsk.
I was just having a little fun with you, buddy.” He put the car in reverse and carefully
backed out of the parking place.
“Well, your idea of fun and mine apparently ain’t
the same, Blintz. Cause I fail to see
anything funny about abusin’ a fine automobile like this.” Like a pouting child, Starsky sat with arms
crossed defiantly across his chest, and tried to ignore the oversized dog’s
head resting affectionately on his shoulder.