The Nekkid Time

43

Starsky goes undercover as a stripper.

 

Originally posted in L.A. Vespers 1 in 1979, published by The Parasite Press. The title is a play on the STAR TREK episode The Naked Time.

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Harold Dobey took another handful of popcorn from the bowl resting on his chest and stretched even farther out along the sofa.

His wife, Edith, entered the room. “Well, the kids are finally asleep.” She stooped to pick up his shoes and lifted his tie from the lamp shade. “Aren’t Ken and Dave coming to watch the game?”

“Nah,” Dobey grunted. “They’re setting up a cover tonight.”

“Oh? What now?” she called from the top of the stairs.

The captain rolled his head back over the arm of the couch and checked the clock. It was 9:45. The game wouldn’t begin for another fifteen minutes. He had time. “About two weeks ago we got word from one of our pigeons that drugs were being passed through a strip joint called Mickie and Donald’s.”

Edith came down stairs and settled herself in the armchair.

“This joint is, well, it’s kinda different from the usual strip joint. It’s for women only.”

“Women only?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that one hell of a thing? All the dancers are men.” A chuckle rumbled up from Dobey’s belly, causing the bowl to dance, spilling popcorn across the front of his shirt. “You shoulda heard those two goin’ at it, fighting over which one was gonna go in—you know, as one of the strippers. The bottom line is tonight L.A.’s gonna see a new attraction: Little David the Giant Killer.”

“David isn’t going to… he wouldn’t really….”

“No, not exactly. Starsky’s going in as the stripper, and Hutch is gonna raid the place with some uniforms to set up the cover. The dealers are short one pusher so we hope they’ll pick up on Starsky and offer him the job.”

Edith laughed until tears rolled down her face. “Now that would be something to see.”

Dobey grinned. “It sure would. Hey, hon, would you get me a beer?”

“Okay.” She smacked him across the soles of his feet with a rolled-up newspaper. “Anything for the lord and master.” At the door she stopped. “Harold, do you still have Thursday off?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to take me there.”

“Where?”

“Mickie and Donald’s.”

“What!?” Dobey sat up, grabbing the sliding bowl. “Like hell, I will. No wife of mine’s going to a place like that.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure your sister will go with me.”

* * * *

“Hey, shut the door, will ya?” Starsky tried to pull his tunic down to cover his backside.

“Shut it yerself, turkey.”

Starsky stomped over to the fire door and slammed it shut. “Creep!”

“Who you callin’ creep?”

Starsky pulled his plastic sword from its scabbard and waved it under the punk’s nose. “If you don’t wanna wind up wearin’ this as a permanent ornament up your nose, you’re gonna keep that door closed. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Right.” Once more pulling his tunic into position, Starsky returned to the wings. Damnit, Hutch, where are you? You were supposed to be here five minutes ago. He caught sight of his reflection in a dusty mirror off to one side. Not bad. Over the short white tunic, he was wearing a leather breastplate. Around his waist, a broad belt of metal studs held his sword and slingshot in place. He was also sporting a series of leather straps—one around each wrist, one around his forehead, and a pair twisted up his legs to hold his sandals on. Nice legs ya got there, Davey me boy.

A burst of catcalls reminded him of where he was and where he would be in two minutes if Hutch didn’t show up pretty soon.

Out on the stage, the Velvet Mauler tossed his black velvet jockstrap to the four winds. The crowd hooted with delight.

The M.C.’s voice rang out sharp in the darkened room. “Ladies, Mickie and Donald’s is proud to present, for the first time anywhere, L.A.’s hottest attraction—Little David the Giant Killer!”

“That’s you, dummy. Get out there.” Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and propelled him toward the stage.

“Wait a minute, I’m not ready… I….”

“Listen, Little David, if you don’t get out there now, they’re gonna be scrapin’ you up with a putty knife.”

“Yeah, but….”

“Move your buns.” Someone pushed hard.

Bright spot lights hit him square in the eyes. The music started.

HUUUUUUTCH!!! Where are you?

* * * *

“Sergeant, excuse me. Aren’t we supposed to go in now?”

“Uh… oh, I’ve decided to wait.” Hutch checked his watch.

“Wait? But why?”

“I just want to give things time to develop.”

“But if we wait any longer, Sergeant Starsky’s gonna have to….”

Hutch beamed at the young officer. “Smart boy,” he caroled, patting him gently on the cheek. “Now you’re catching on.” And whistling a happy little tune to himself, Hutch slipped in through the front door to check out the action.

* * * *

Screams and catcalls echoed through the crowded club. Female faces leered at him from all sides, hands clapping, gesturing.

Uh-oh. Sounds like they’re gettin’ a little angry. Better do somethin’ besides bumps and grinds, Starsk. I’ll take off my shoes. Good idea… just throw them one of my shoes… wrong, bad idea… I bend over to take off a shoe and I moon the whole south side. What else? What else? Oh, yeah, my headband.

Starsky pulled his headband off and twirled it twice around his head. Then very slowly he wrapped it around his index finger, and then very slowly he unwrapped it, all the while running his tongue back and forth over his bottom lip in what he fondly believed to be a seductive manner.

“Come on, baby, do your thing!” yelled a voice off to one side.

“More… more… more….” chanted another.

What a bunch of hostile broads. Now what? How ’bout I give ’em the ol’ sling shot bit. Let’s see, swing it to the left and bump it to the right. Now, bump it to the left. Hutch, come on, buddy, get the lead out, will ya?

The slingshot gone, Starsky looked for other expendable items. He unclasped the sword and tossed it into the audience.

Oops! Almost gotcha, big Mama.

The belt followed the sword, and still the crowd clamored for more.

“Hey there, gorgeous!”

“Take it off! Take it all off!”

“Show us some skin, sugah!”

“Peel, baby, peel!”

Nothin’ left except this little dress thing. Maybe If do it real slow. Yeah, that’s it. Hutch ain’t gonna go through with it; he just wants me to sweat a little. Okay, ladies of L.A., here is Little David. Eat your hearts out.

The tunic was raised slowly upward, twitching bewitchingly as it rose. Pulling it over his head, Starsky grinned devilishly and tossed it to the waiting crowd.

They went wild.

From the back of the room, Kenneth Hutchinson poked two fingers in his mouth and let go a piercing whistle.

Man, is this ever embarrassing. How’d I ever get into this mess? Hey, relax, no sweat. This is just a little bit less than what you wear to the beach. Sure it is, dummy, except that your bathing suit has a back to it.

“Get with it, honey.”

“All of it… all of it… all of it….”

These ladies ain’t no ladies! Now what do I do? I can’t… what would my mother say? There are some things a guy just can’t do. Oh, oh, they’re gettin’ mean again. Better do somethin’. Think, David, think. Wait! I got it. In GYPSY, Natalie Wood did all her important stuff behind the curtain. She just pulled it out in front of her and voila. So, let’s just boogie back to the curtain, a la Carmen Miranda. Keep your fingers crossed, Nat baby. Hope this works.

At the back of the stage, Starsky lashed out, grabbed the curtain, pulled it in front of him, and then tossed out his leather gee-string with a final flourish.

Pandemonium broke out. Women stamped and whistled.

Starsky darted back stage.

“Hey, mack, ya fergot to take a bow.”

The stage manager grabbed him and once again he was pushed to center stage, this time clad only in the amber glow of the foot lights. He did the only thing he could do under the circumstances. He bowed.

* * * *

Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson strolled casually into the street. “Okay, Anderson. Now we raid the joint.”