by Nightbird & Ellis Murdock

10 January, 2002

"Will you hurry up?" Hutch almost hissed. "Come on." He was desperate enough now to physically yank Starsky out of the station, but the resulting scene would have completely defeated the purpose. 

"Just a minute, I told ya. Will you relax? Relax." Perfectly calm, Starsky returned to foraging through the desk drawer and didn't even notice Hutch writhing at his side. 

"Three days off, Starsk. Three days. We are officially off-duty as of—" claiming Starsky's free arm, Hutch hastily consulted the attached watch, continuing, "—as of four minutes ago and I do not want to spend the first half of that locked in a room with Dobey, trying to explain the paper I just laid on his desk. All because you couldn't find. . . What is it you're looking for again?" 

"The brochures. How do you expect us to be tourists if we don't know where to tour?" A few shifted papers and a dive deep within a drawer later and Starsky's hand emerged with a flourish, brightly colored tri-folds tightly within his grasp. "Got 'em. Well, don't just stand there," he deadpanned. "Let's get going." The exasperated look on Hutch's face must have been just the reaction Starsky had been hoping for, and he answered it with a bright grin. "Anyway, you know Dobey doesn't read requisitions at this time of night." 

Hutch opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again abruptly. There would be plenty of time for pithy retorts and verbal sparring later. Although, he thought -- renewed hope suddenly coursing through his veins – by rights, there should be better things to occupy our time by then. In any case, all that really mattered at present was escape. He was already out the door with Starsky a mere two steps behind him when a voice bellowed at them from behind, proving once again just how short the plunge from euphoria to despair can sometimes be. 

"Starsky! Hutchinson! In my office. NOW." 

The cockiness of Starsky's demeanor evaporated as self-preservation took hold, especially when faced with Hutch's warning index finger and unusually severe visage. "S'okay," he said with a thoroughly unconvincing laugh. "He probably just wants to wish us a good trip. You know. It'll be fine."

Hutch's reply fell squarely into the realm of the non-verbal and the trip back to Dobey's office was menacingly silent, the mood not improving much once they were inside. 

"Hey, Cap. We were just. . ." Starsky's opening line was aborted as Dobey waved a paper in his general direction. 

"What is this?" 

"Dunno." Starsky turned awkwardly, trying to read sideways. "Request. . .? It looks like a 'Request for Compensation' form, hmm?" He flashed an engaging smile, while Hutch just hung his head and dropped forlornly into a chair. 

"Is this some kind of a joke?" 

"What?" 

"Have a seat, Starsky. You've both got some explaining to do." Dobey allowed his detectives to get situated, favoring each with a stern stare before launching into the interrogation. "A bottle of nail polish remover?" he asked, every word steeped in incredulity.  "According to this paper – and I'm sure you can't wait to fill me in on all of the key points – you two wish to be compensated for a one dollar and twenty nine cent bottle of nail polish remover. Is that correct?"

"Plus tax."

"Yes, Starsky. Plus tax. Well, go ahead. Enlighten me."

"'Kay," Starsky said matter-of-factly. "We needed that to get the silly putty off my dashboard."

"Well. I certainly didn't expect it to do that."

Dobey looked from one man to the other and back again. "That sounds like a personal problem to me." 

"It would be, normally," Hutch agreed solemnly, making his presence in the room felt for the first time. "In this case, though, the silly putty was integral to the case." 

There was a pause as Dobey digested this. "How?" 

Both men tried to answer at once. 

"Well, y'see, Captain, the little black. . . " 

"The magnet on the mars li. . ." Hutch's expression cut Starsky's reply off in mid-sentence. "The magnet on the mars light broke. . . " 

"Never seen that happen before," Starsky volunteered, not long dissuaded. "Hutch took the corner a little too quickly -- he's not used to driving the Torino, y'know -- and -- bam! -- the magnet part just broke right off." He tapped Hutch's ankle lightly with his foot, a tacit prompt to go on. 

". . . and we thought, we thought we could save time and. . ." Hutch turned from Starsky and studied his hands, wildly pulling at anything that promised to sound even remotely plausible. Inspiration struck suddenly and he jerked his head back up to again face the patiently-waiting Dobey. "And we thought we could save some time -- not to mention the city some money – if we could use the silly putty to stick it back on the hood instead of breaking pursuit and driving back to the garage." 

The corners of Starsky's mouth twitched with the threat of a smile at the vivid memories, but he contained it remarkably well. Dobey's expression didn't change at all. 

"Did it work?" he asked dryly. 

"No," Hutch admitted. "But it was worth a try." 

"And it ended up on your dash when. . .?" 

"Well, it didn't keep the light on the hood and we had to put it somewhere. . ." 

"So you put it on the dash," Dobey finished. 

"And it stuck," Starsky added helpfully. "Until we got the polish remover. Took it right off. And as you can see," Starsky rose from his chair, shuffling madly through some of the papers on the desk until he found a copy of their report, "if you read this, you'll see that we did make the arrest. Right here. Capshaw and his first lieutenant are in custody, practically tripping over each other in their zeal to be the first one to make a deal. Now that that's cleared up, maybe we could. . ."  

"Sit down, Starsky," Dobey barked. "You might as well settle in; neither one of you is going anywhere any time soon." 

Starsky sat down with a resigned puff while Hutch stared balefully at his watch. 

"So, what's next?" Dobey frowned as he scanned the sheet. "Hmm. Now I'm sure that I must be reading this wrong, because I know that my two top detectives wouldn't be trying to stick the city for the purchase of a . . ." he paused, glancing down once again at the paper in front of him almost as if he'd expected it to have magically rewritten itself in the intervening two seconds, ". . .a five-dollar balloon?" The captain tapped the fingertips of both hands together, somewhat filling the vacuum that formed while two detectives engaged in a silent duel to determine who wouldn't have to explain this one. Hutch, apparently, lost this round. 

"Starsky used the balloon to signal me when Capshaw left the house. The bush I was in was too high. . ." 

"Listen, I know I've been off the streets for awhile and things change, but don't most detectives use walkie-talkies for that sort of thing?" 

"We tried, but the bra didn't work!" Starsky protested.  

"Nuh-uh," Dobey said with a wag of a finger. "No. We'll get to that little item in a minute. Right now I want to hear about the balloon. Hutch?" 

Hutch cleared his throat before slowly continuing the narration. "Capshaw's security includes an electro-magnetic field that renders all forms of radio communications inoperable. Since we couldn't use our two-ways and I couldn't see the front. . .well, Starsky got innovative and sent up a balloon to alert me that our suspect was out the door." 

Dobey took a deep, cleansing breath and turned expectantly to Starsky. "A five-dollar balloon?" 

"That kid made Hoffa look like an amateur. You think you could've done better?" Uncomfortable at being on the receiving end of increasingly impatient glares from both Dobey and Hutch, Starsky added defensively, "Hey, there weren't a lot of options and we were running out of time. Suddenly, this little girl with a balloon goes walking by on the other side of the street, and it just came to me. A thought, not the balloon." His own grin died instantly of loneliness. "Anyway, I ran over to her and asked nice if I could have it, but no dice under five. I wasn't exactly in a position to haggle, so I gave it to 'er." 

>>>>>>>>

The room was bathed in blissful near-silence for all of about thirty seconds while Dobey drummed his pen thoughtfully against the desktop. "So, you're telling me that, in light of the fact you couldn't use your radios, you --" he pointed the pen at Starsky, "--went off and bought a balloon from a little girl on the street? That was the end result of all your years experience and training, your hi-tech solution to the problem at hand?" 

"No," Starsky replied slowly. "That was the low-tech solution we tried after the hi-tech solution didn't pan out." 

Dobey abruptly dropped the pen and turned to Hutch. "Hutchinson? Well, don't make me ask. You're going to tell me why you suddenly decided you needed a bra."  

Hutch cleared his throat and assumed his most professional expression. "Yes, Captain. A bra. We — uh — we needed the underwire." 

"You did." 

"He — that is, we — thought that it might boost the transmission enough to allow some limited use of the radios. Of course, that was before we knew it was an electromagnetic field we were dealing with." It seemed a necessary clarification, though for the life of him Hutch wasn't sure why. 

"There some reason only the wire from a bra would do?" 

"No!" cried two voices in unison, Starsky picking up the thread thereafter. 

"No, it's just that the nearest store happened to deal exclusively in ladies apparel, and since the lady remembered us from our earlier visit to get the —" 

Dobey held up a hand to silence Starsky. "Nuh-uh. We'll get to that next. Right now what I want to know is, did that work?" His eyes had narrowed menacingly. 

"Well?" Dobey repeated. "Did it work?"

"No," Hutch said flatly, Starsky's disappointed and apologetic face still etched in his own mind. 

"Uh-huh. And which one of you geniuses hatched that winner?" 

Hutch heaved a sigh and turned Starsky's way; Starsky squirmed under the spotlight. 

"Well, it worked on 'Captain Science'." 

"You watch morning cartoons, Starsky? Why am I not surprised?" 

"It's not a cartoon," Starsky grumped. "It's a science show." As Hutch silently worried the furrow at the bridge of his nose, Starsky added, "I had the 'flu and it was either that or 'Higgle the Piggle'. Which one would've you gone for?" He sighed. "Probably woulda worked, too, if it wasn't for that 'comfort coating' on the wire. Don'tcha think?" 

"'Captain Science' can stick it up his –"

"What's that, Hutchinson? Speak up."

"Oh, um, I said, 'Modern science couldn't fix this'. Do you have an aspirin?" Hutch chose to ignore his partner for a moment as he awaited the fruits of their captain's shuffle through a lower desk drawer. The expression on his face shifted from forlorn to panicked as he took advantage of Dobey's momentary distraction to glance at the paper. "Bikini," he mouthed to Starsky. 

Starsky shrugged and smiled encouragingly, and that did nothing to ease Hutch's anxiety. He produced a series of hand-motions and other bodily gyrations intended to convey a message to Starsky beyond their normal means of telepathy, and was nearly caught in the act when Dobey lifted his head and said, right on cue, "A bikini?" 

"A specially lined and French-cut designer bikini," Starsky qualified, ignoring the hiss of indrawn breath from the chair at his side, as well as the unmistakable sound of Hutch swallowing his own tongue. "One of the expensive ones. That's why—" 

"Why, Starsky? That's the question. What in the name of Sam Hill is a French-cut bikini doing on your expense account sheet?" To Hutch, who had gotten up and was currently banging his head against the water cooler, Dobey yelled, "Quit clownin' around and get back here!" 

As Hutch reluctantly reclaimed the chair, Starsky continued the narration with unrelenting cheer. "Cap'n, as you know, a lot of our work on the streets requires us to find and cultivate snitches—" 

Hutch's fingers clawed at his knees and his jaw threatened immediate lock-down.  

"Oh, so you're cultivating snitches now, Starsky? I have been in law enforcement for over half your life. I know about snitches. What I want to know now is why I'm having to justify reimbursing you for a fifty-dollar bikini." 

"Well, Cap'n, in this case we wouldn't have known where to set-up the stakeout on Capshaw without Lolena. And Lolena doesn't take the usual green persuasion, if you know what I mean. Lolena prefers—" 

"Clothes," Hutch said, as if afraid to let Starsky continue. 

Dobey glanced at Starsky and transferred his stare to Hutch. Then back to Starsky. The pendulum stare continued for a minute before Dobey said, without a trace of humor, "Starsky, just how close to this Lolena are you?"

"Cap'n, I—" 

"Lolena is a valued source, Captain," Hutch answered quickly, tilting his head in a gesture that begged Starsky to keep quiet. "We give her what she needs—within reason—and she supplies us with valuable information." 

Dobey looked unconvinced. "Why haven't I heard you mention this Lolena before? Starsky, if you're trying to pass off one of your girlfriends as a police source—" 

"Cap'n, that's not fair! I don't even have any. . ." Starsky began, but he trailed off when he noticed that Hutch's left ear had turned vivid pink. ". . .conversations with Lolena outside official police business." 

A knock sounded on the door and Officer Powell stuck his head in the room. Upon noticing Starsky and Hutch, and the expression on the captain's face, he looked daunted and started to back out, closing the door slowly. "Powell!" 

"Y-yes, Captain?" 

"You obviously want something or you wouldn't have opened my door." 

"Sorry to interrupt, sir, but can I speak with you a moment?" 

Dobey fixed both of his detectives with a stern silent warning to remain in their seats if they valued their current rank and commiserate salary. He grunted as he pushed the chair back and Hutch prevented by sheer psychic will Starsky's ensuing snort when the captain's chair squeaked its protest. As soon as the door closed behind Dobey, Hutch reached out and grabbed the arm of Starsky's chair, towing the chair—and the startled detective—closer to him. 

"Can we please restrict our answers to police work?" 

"What do you think I'm doing?" Starsky asked, the picture of wounded innocence. 

"What were you about to tell him—" 

"Aw, come on, Hutch, I didn't want him to think—" 

"And just precisely what do you want him to think?" 

"Look, if you think you can handle the rest of the items on that sheet any better than I have, be my guest." 

Hutch sighed. "I'm trying to remember the rest of the items—I was so busy worrying about the bikini." 

Starsky grinned and folded his arms. "You remember. . ." 

Hutch's face turned to granite except for his eyes, which widened and brightened simultaneously with something akin to terror.  

"Partner?" 

"Don't," Hutch barked. "You just sit still. Let me think." 

"He's gonna be back in a few—" 

"I know!" Hutch clasped his hands, blew on them, and rested his elbows on the chair arms. "All right. Here’s how we're going to play it." 

"I'm listening." 

"I'm doing the talking from here on out. You follow my lead." 

"That's your plan?" Starsky's smirk returned full force. 

"Yes, buddy, that's the plan, because if I let you explain the next item on the list with even half the amount of information you gave him about the bikini, we'll be spending the next three days wearing uniforms and blowing whistles instead of enjoying our nice, hard-earned, paid-for-in-advance, non-refundable—" 

"So we didn't exactly follow S.O.P. Nothing on that list is—" 

The door opened and Dobey entered the room mumbling about rookie officers and their inability to follow standard operating procedure with case-breaking consequences. Starsky stared at the ceiling, the file cabinet, the tops of his shoes, and finally the door to avoid meeting Hutch's eye. 

"Where were we? Ah, yes. Bubble bath? I suppose you're going to tell me that Lolena wasn't satisfied with the bikini." 

Starsky opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again, eyeing Hutch expectantly. 

"It was liquid soap." 

"Doesn't say 'liquid soap' here on the receipt. It says 'bubble bath'." 

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who relaxed back in the chair and kept his attention focused on Captain Dobey's desk like a model child in school. Hutch rubbed at his chin and said, slowly, weighing his words, "Yes, the bubble bath. My car began spewing steam as soon as we pulled into position to stakeout Henry's house, so I got out and popped the hood, felt around under there to see if I could figure out what was wrong. . .?" 

"Go on," Dobey prompted. 

". . .and my hand got stuck…." Hutch's face adopted the identical rosy tint as his ears. 

"Starsky, why don't you help Hutchinson out? I'd like to finish this discussion by tomorrow." 

Starsky smiled. "Hutch is doing just fine. Like he said, his hand got stuck. Wedged it in real good, didn't you? Sent me over to the convenience store to get something slippery we could use to try and unstick 'im with." 

Another knock on the door brought a summons that required Dobey's personal attention. As soon as the door closed, Hutch slid forward in the chair and put his head in his hands. 

"Hutch, it's o-o-kay," Starsky emphasized the final words as if drawing out the syllables could relax the tension in Hutch's shoulders. 

"I told you we should just eat these costs. Suffer the dent in our wallets. But, noooo. . ." 

"That list tops out at one-hundred and fifty dollars, buddy. You really wanna kiss 150 bucks goodbye just 'cause we've got to explain each purchase? This is Dobey, not the Spanish Inquisition, ya know." 

"New plan," Hutch sighed wearily. 

"Awright! Terrific. What's the new idea? Seein' as your last one worked so well. . ." 

"I—" 

The door opened and Dobey stomped in this time, ranting in a moderated growl about budgets and maintaining a fully-staffed, efficient police force under the current economic restraints. He sat down, scratched blindly in the hair above his left ear with his pencil, and grabbed the sheet.  

" Moving right along now. I know I shouldn't ask this. . ." 

"Yeah?" Starsky sank a little lower in the chair. 

"I probably don't even want to hear the answer. . ." 

"Yeah," Hutch agreed, knowing what was coming next. 

"But I've gotta ask, what in the world could you two possibly want with a box of maxi-pads?" 

"Well, you see, there's actually a really interesting story. . ." 

"Short answer!" Dobey snapped, turning expectantly to Hutch. 

Hutch was silent for a moment before attempting an answer. Then, in the slow midwestern drawl that had replaced his usual speech pattern for the time-being, replied, "My car needed them." 

A heavy silence descended on the room while Dobey looked from one to the other, then finally rested his gaze on Starsky. "Long answer!" 

"We didn't actually buy them," Starsky was quick to clarify, as if that really mattered at this point. "Mrs. Jeffries - you know, the lady whose house we were parked in front of while we were waiting for Henry to get back home? She saw the steam coming out of Hutch's car and came out to see if she could help. Her husband . . ." 

"Mr. Jeffries," Hutch interjected, more to keep an active role in the conversation than for anything else. 

". . .Mr. Jeffries had the same thing happen just a month ago. Can you imagine that?" 

"Some coincidence, huh?" Hutch added with a forced chuckle, rolling his eyes as Dobey returned to Starsky. 

>>>>>>>>

"Anyway, she said that he always uses maxi-pads when his head gasket blows. Soaks up all the water and grit like nothing else out there. Swears by 'em." 

"And she brought a new box out to us, happy to support the police in any way she could. Still, she wanted to be compensated…" 

"Well, naturally," Starsky said. 

"And we -- well, I, in this case -- compensated her. And since it was on official business. . ." Hutch let the sentence dangle, trying to gauge Dobey's reaction thus far. 

"Now you want to be compensated. Hmmph. Silly putty? I assume that's the same silly putty you needed the--"  

"--nail polish remover for. Yes, sir," Hutch said with a sad sigh. 

Starsky, on the other hand, inhaled deeply and assumed his most reasonable, long suffering expression. "When we started out this morning, before we were sent off on that ill-fated stakeout in front of the Jeffries house waiting for Henry, before Hutch's car committed suicide. . .before Henry sent us to Lolena and Lolena sent us off to buy a bikini in exchange for Capshaw. . . before we had to buy a balloon because our walkie talkies didn't work and use silly putty to try and stick the broken mars light onto the car as we gave merry chase to one Herbert Walker, recently in Mr. Capshaw's employ. . .before any of that happened, I had a brand new plastic egg full of silly putty that gave its life in the line. Now I don't ask for much: my partner, my salary -- meager though that is -- a couple vacation days now and then, and . . .one. . .new. . ." 

"Container of silly putty? Oh, well, why didn't you say so in the first place, Starsky?" Dobey asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "That makes all the sense in the world. Well, it might, but then again, I see that you also felt the need to buy eight packages of chewing gum? I suppose you needed some cheap spackling?" 

"Oh, that," Starsky began, rubbing his hands together. 

"No, wait. I don't really want to know." Holding up a hand to request silence, Dobey rubbed his face wearily. "If I just accept this, say okay to all of it, will you both stop talking and get out of here?" 

"Yes, sir!" two voices answered in unison. 

"Well, what're you waiting for? GO!" 

Both men bolted from the room with startling alacrity. In fact, it would have been impossible to reliably identify the blurs that shot out the door as even being human. By the time Dobey flipped the page over and yelled, "Bed sheets?! You want to be compensated for a new set of bed sheets?" both men were already well out of earshot. 

finis

 

 Twin Dolphin Productions