Pressure Cooker

70

Starsky knows his partner’s moods and how to deal with them.

 

First published 2023.

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As Hutch moved from long, raging rant to silent moping, Starsky’s thoughts turned to his Aunt Rosie and her pressure cooker. As a youngster, using it had made him anxious but, under Rosie’s gentle tutelage, he’d become adept at handling that ticking time bomb and releasing the steam just in time to produce perfect puddings.

He turned to look at his partner. Yep. About time to release that valve.

“Come on, Blintz,” he said, as he parked near the park gates and turned off the engine.

Hutch turned towards him, enquiry written across his face. Starsky noted his partner’s eyes were showing a mixture of outrage and misery. So transparent in his pain, vulnerable even…but only in front of his partner.

“Come on. We’re going to throw bread at the ducks.”

From the back seat of the Torino, Starsky grabbed an old sandwich and an end of loaf he’d put by for just such an emergency. He started down the pathway and heard Hutch hurrying to catch up. Good.

“Aren’t we a bit old to be feeding ducks?”

“Nope.”

“And anyway, you throw the bread to the ducks, not ‘at’ them.”

“I throw it at them and score points per hit,” Starsky said, pan-faced.

Hutch fell right into the trap.

“What! Starsky! You can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“You might hurt them.”

“What, with this?” Starsky demonstrated by throwing a small breadcrumb at Hutch’s nose.

“Hey!”

“Did that hurt?” Starsky demanded.

“Well, no.”

“There you are then. Come on, we’ll take it in turns and see who gets the highest score.”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“That sounds like a loser talking,” Starsky teased.

Within minutes, he was able to stand back and admire his handiwork as Hutch (who always took a challenge seriously) tried to hit a duck with small crumb after small crumb. Of course, the ducks were much too smart and fast to get hit.

After five attempts, Hutch turned to his partner, wanting to know, “How much do you usually score?”

“Zero.”

“Zero?”

“Yeah, ain’t hit a duck yet but I keep hoping.”

As he took his turn throwing breadcrumbs, Starsky heard Hutch snort and then begin to chuckle.

“Come on, Gordo, is that all you got? I got closer than that at least!”

Starsky grinned to himself and muttered, “Perfect pudding every time.”

“Huh.”

Starsky threw the last of the crumbs in the pond, shoved the now empty bag in his jacket pocket and slung an arm around his partner.

“Time for a perfect pudding,” he announced. “Let’s go see what desserts Huggy’s got on the menu this week.”

“Okay. Why not.”

As they headed back to the car, Starsky mentally patted himself on the back. The secret to keeping his partner perfected was timing, just like with the pressure cooker.