Friend of the Devil

“Trick or…”

Hutch didn’t even let his partner finish the sentence, just took one look at the costumed figure–a red devil complete with horns and pitchfork–on his front porch and slammed the door.

Originally published in the SHareCon 2014 zine.

“Trick or…”

Hutch didn’t even let his partner finish the sentence, just took one look at the costumed figure–a red devil complete with horns and pitchfork–on his front porch and slammed the door.

“Scrooge,” Starsky yelled.

“Wrong holiday, you’ve got another month before you start up with the Christmas crap.”

“Hutch,” Starsky whined and Hutch reluctantly opened the door.

“Why aren’t you dressed,” Starsky asked, as he pushed his way into the living room and grabbed the bowl of treats on the table beside the door. The bowl had a mix of apples, homemade popcorn balls, and Tootsie Rolls. The last was clearly a mistake on Hutch’s part, as they were one of Starsky’s favorites and Hutch resigned himself to running out of candy.

Starsky flopped on the couch, dropping his pitchfork to the floor. Hutch swooped past and tried to take the bowl away. Starsky pulled it close and cradled it in his arms, so Hutch gave up for the moment and sat on the coffee table. Playing dumb to annoy Starsky, he asked, “Dressed for what?”

“You’re supposed to be ready to go to the costume party. Huggy’s going to be very disappointed if we don’t show up. He spent all day yesterday decorating the place.”

“I told ya, Starsky, I’m not going. Go, have fun, play with your little friends; me and Zen and the Art of Gardening will be fine. And give me that back,” he said, waving his hand to indicate the bowl.

“You’ve got enough food here to feed a Boy Scout troop or two,” Starsky complained.

“Or one sugar starved partner,” Hutch grumbled.

In response, Starsky opened one of the wrappers with his teeth and popped a candy into Hutch’s mouth. “It’s good for ya, babe.”

Swallowing the candy but not about to admit he’d already had three pieces, an apple, and a popcorn ball before Starsky showed up, Hutch answered, “I am dressed,” indicating his jeans and collared shirt. “This is the ideal outfit for staying home, feeding the real trick or treaters and finishing my book.”

“What’s wrong? You don’t like Christmas, won’t do Halloween.” Starsky pointed at him in what Hutch thought was a poor imitation of his own pointy finger of doom, while still keeping the other arm wrapped protectively around the bowl. “There’s a pattern here. You hate holidays.”

“You’ll make a very good detective someday, Starsk.”

“Coulda fooled me last Valentine’s day,” Starsky said, leaning over to steal a kiss.

In a slightly better mood, Hutch said, “Don’t let that get out; you’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Come with me, and I’ll keep your secret,” Starsky promised.

“Give me a minute to find something to wear,” Hutch said, giving in, never having expected any other outcome.

“No rush,” replied Starsky, leaning back on the couch in full possession of the bowl once again. “Wear that blinding white outfit of yours. Between that and your hair, you’ll be the perfect angel to my devil.” Starsky unwrapped a popcorn ball, tossed the wrapper toward the trash can in the kitchen, and missed.

Hutch threw a pillow at him and went to do as he was told.

Thanks to Anne and Flamingo for their brainstorming ideas and for Starsky’s costume and to Flamingo for the beta.