New Threads

Criminals, clothes and catastrophes — just another day in the life!

Just a silly little thing I threw on the page one weekend. Thanks to Sue for the beta and Jude for the kind comments. Enjoy!

Starsky pulled up outside Hutch’s place in the Torino and sounded the horn in two loud blasts. Within seconds, his partner was out of the door and hurrying over to the car. He climbed into his usual seat and immediately turned on his friend.

“Starsk, it’s 6 a.m. — the neighbors have enough to complain about without you disturbing their sleep!”

“Sorry,” Starsky replied, grinning over at his partner and wondering how long it would be before Hutch noticed what he was wearing. He didn’t have to wait long, as Hutch opened his mouth to say something else and then seemed to change tracks mid-word.

“The — hey, is that a new jacket?”

“Yep.” Starsky preened slightly under Hutch’s scrutiny. “You like it?”

“Sure, but wearing it on duty doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“Says Mr Clotheshorse over here!” Starsky teased. “Besides, I don’t believe in saving things for special occasions — what’s the point of buying something and not wearing it? Seems like a waste of money to me.”

Hutch wasn’t about to admit defeat. “It’s more of a waste of money if it gets ruined before you’ve had a chance to get any wear out of it.”

The argument carried on in a similar vein as they drove, both men sticking to their guns simply for the sake of enjoying the familiar banter that defined their friendship.

* * * * *

Later that morning, the dispatcher’s voice sounded clearly from the radio. “All units in the vicinity of 2315 Abernathy; silent alarm from the jeweller’s at that location.”

“That’s only a couple of blocks from here,” Hutch pointed out as he reached for the handset. “This is Zebra-3. We are in the area and responding.”

Starsky took the next opening in the traffic and made a swift u-turn. “Why are we always going the opposite direction when the calls come in?” he groused, wincing as the Torino’s wheels protested the maneuver. “It’s hell on my tires.”

“Murphy’s Law, my friend,” Hutch informed him with a grin. He paused to switch on the siren and secure the Mars light to the roof of the car before continuing, “Everything that can go wrong, probably will.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” Heavy sarcasm laced Starsky’s words. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine this morning?”

By this time, they were approaching the store in question and were just in time to see two youths run out of the front entrance and take off down the road at a dead sprint. Starsky put his foot down on the accelerator and sent the Torino tearing after them, only slowing down when they left the main road to turn down an alley. The partners had no need to discuss their next move; they had handled situations like this more times than either of them could remember and knew exactly what to do. Hutch opened the passenger side door and followed the fleeing thieves on foot, while Starsky steered the Torino on down the road, looking for a way to circle around to the other side of the block.

Hutch was forced to negotiate the predictable trashcans the two youths turned over in his path, but had no trouble keeping them in sight. They had obviously chosen their route on the spur of the moment, since there was a chain link fence blocking their path near the end of the alley, but Hutch had to give them points for determination as he watched them both scramble up and over it. He followed suit, but caught the sleeve of his jacket on the top of the fence, delaying him for a moment. When he dropped to the ground and turned to continue pursuit, he saw that the Torino had appeared at the other end of the alley, blocking the thieves’ escape. Starsky leaped out of the car and grabbed one of the youths, leaving Hutch to apprehend the other one.

Starsky rifled through the thief’s pockets and produced a water pistol, which he waved at his partner with a chuckle.

“Couple of real dangerous criminals we’ve got here, Hutch!”

Within a few moments, handcuffs had been deployed, rights had been read, and both thieves were ensconsed securely in the back seat of the Torino.

As he walked around to the passenger side, Hutch suddenly let out a curse.

“Whatsa matter?” Starsky’s concern was immediate and sincere; that is, until Hutch raised his arm to reveal a jagged tear in the sleeve of his jacket. Then he chuckled again and teased, “Pursuing dangerous criminals is a risky business!”

Hutch levelled an icy glare in his direction and they set off back to the station.

* * * * *

By the time they had processed the jewel thieves and written up their reports, it was past midday. As the partners made their way back out to continue their shift, Hutch was still grouching about his ripped jacket and Starsky’s lack of sympathy. Starsky threw his arm around his partner’s shoulders in commiseration and made a peace offering.

“Come on, I’ll buy you lunch. I could murder a hot dog right about now.”

Hutch readily agreed and was soon waiting in the Torino while Starsky purchased two hot dogs from their favorite vendor. He accepted his lunch from his partner through the car window, but squeezed the bun slightly too hard during the transfer and a splodge of ketchup squirted out to land squarely on the front of his already abused jacket.

“Oh, dammit!” Hutch exclaimed. He looked up into his partner’s amused face and growled, “Quit smirking and get me a napkin or something!”

There was a moment’s confusion while Hutch tried to take a paper towel from Starsky while handing his hot dog back over at the same time, the process complicated further by the fact that Starsky was being deliberately less than helpful. Hutch attempted to clean up the mess, but the ketchup left an obvious stain despite his best efforts. Predictably, it was at that moment that another call came through on the radio, preventing Hutch from going in search of a bathroom. As the Torino pulled away from the curb, Starsky was chuckling again while Hutch cursed Murphy’s Law.

* * * * *

The dispatch call was to a brawl at a bar not far from where the partners had stopped for lunch. They pulled up just down the street and both headed towards the sounds of people shouting and glass breaking. As they approached, a man was suddenly catapulted out of the door of the bar straight toward Hutch. Trying to control his passage out onto the street, he snatched at the front of Hutch’s jacket, yanking it viciously open and ripping off all the buttons in the process.

Hutch instinctively grabbed hold of the man to stop them both from falling, at the same time calling out, “Hey! Watch it, buddy!”

The man gained his feet, though he was still far from steady and obviously more than a little inebriated. He immediately turned on Hutch, yelling, “What’s your problem?” He followed up his ungrateful statement by shoving Hutch roughly away from him.

Hutch flew backwards into a mailbox and ended up on the ground after all, while Starsky finally stepped in to help and soon had the drunk restrained. By this time, three black and whites had arrived on the scene, and Starsky relinquished his charge to one of the uniformed officers, while several of the others entered the bar to deal with the continuing trouble inside.

Starsky looked down at his partner, who was sitting against the mailbox surrounded by buttons, and couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

Hutch examined first his jacket’s torn sleeve, then the ketchup stain down the front, and finally the bits of broken thread that marked where the buttons had been. Then he raised the index finger on his right and jabbed it in Starsky’s direction.

“That’s right, go ahead and laugh,” he said, “but this is exactly what I was talking about this morning. Just goes to prove my point that you shouldn’t wear clothes you care about on duty.”

In response, Starsky spread his arms wide and did a quick twirl. “I think you’ll find my new jacket is still in pristine condition,” he gloated.

His triumph was short-lived, however, as an eighteen-wheeler suddenly sped past them, driving straight through a huge puddle at the side of the road and spraying Starsky from head to toe with muddy rain water.

Then it was Hutch’s turn to laugh at his partner’s comeuppance from his position sheltered by the mail box — and laugh he did.