Early the next morning, Starsky was already waiting on the doorstep of his front porch when Hutch arrived. Sam sat stoically by his side, a picture postcard of ‘man’s best friend’. Hutch’s beat-up old Ford, that Starsky found so repulsive, would have to serve as transportation until he could get his new driver’s license. Parked in the driveway was the Striped Tomato, grounded for the moment. If there was one thing Starsky hated worse than riding in Hutch’s car, it was Hutch driving the Torino.
Starsky and Sam jogged out to the curb and jumped into the car as soon as it rolled to a stop. Having resolved not to pick on his partner this morning, Hutch smiled broadly as they got in. He fervently hoped the Matron of Misery wasn’t on duty at the driver’s license office when they arrived.
“Morning.”
“Mornin’,” Starsky answered cordially. His mood seemed greatly improved from the previous night.
Sam jumped into the back seat, scattering paper bags, smelly socks, and tin cans, making room for himself, with little regard for the litter and dirty clothes that resided there. Once situated, the dog plopped both paws over the back of Hutch’s seat and waited for his own personal greeting.
Hutch reached up and chuffed the big dog under the chin. “Hiya, fella.” Apparently satisfied with this, Sam sat back down and waited for the vehicle to roll.
The blond reached into a brown paper take-out bag on the seat between them, and pulled out two cups of coffee, handing one over to Starsky. Feeling a little bad about giving his partner a hard time the day before, he offered the coffee as an unspoken apology. “Donuts in the other bag,” he said.
Starsky accepted the coffee with a smile. He lifted the plastic lid, and the rich aroma of the brew filled the small confines of the car. “Thanks. Didn’t have time for breakfast.” Starsky recognized the truce offering. And though it really hadn’t been necessary, it was appreciated. He and Hutch had this understanding. They didn’t actually say, ‘I’m sorry,’ when one of them went a little too far. But there were subtle gestures they both accepted as an apology. “Wanna donut?”
“Sure,” Hutch answered. “Picked up a plain one for Sam. Don’t let him have one of the glazed.”
“Aw, Hutch, ya know he loves the glazed,” Starsky whined. “Ya take all the enjoyment out of it for him.”
Having heard his name, Sam moved forward, and looked back and forth between the two men, trying to figure out if anything was expected of him.
“Starsk, don’t argue with me, okay? The dog shouldn’t even be eating donuts. But since you insist on giving them to him, the least we can do is not feed him the additional sugar.”
Knowing he couldn’t win this familiar argument, Starsky conceded the point, and dug to the bottom of the bag for Sam’s plain donut. Getting a whiff of the fresh pastry, Sam’s tail began its windshield wiper routine, thudding heavily against the seat while saliva dripped from his big jaws.
“Take it to the back seat, ya big lug,” Starsky told him. “I don’t want ya slobberin’ in my coffee.”
Happy to oblige, Sam grabbed the warm donut from Starsky’s hand and retired to the back seat for a private feast. Hutch pulled away from the curb, and drove along quietly as both men enjoyed their coffee. When they approached the State Offices, Hutch decided to offer a little friendly advice.
“Listen, Starsk, do yourself a favor and try not to incite that woman if she’s there today. Make her mad, and she’ll just find some way to make it more difficult.”
“Yeah, I know her type—really gets off on authority. But I figure, I’ll just turn on the old Starsky charm, and I’ll have her eatin’ outta the palm of my hand.” Starsky waggled his eyebrows mischievously.
Hutch shook his head. “You’ll make a big mistake if you try that number on her,” he warned.
“”We’ll see.” Starsky rolled down the windows before getting out of the car. “You comin’?”
“Yeah, why not?” Hutch sighed. He may as well be there to pick up the pieces when the ‘female buzz saw’ was finished with Starsky.