La Cucaracha

Starsky and Hutch’s bust of a taco truck drug dealer doesn’t quite go as planned.

A twenty minute fic.

“What roach coach have you dragged me to this time?” Hutch complained loudly, looking up at the garishly painted taco truck. There were praying hands on the back panel, as tall as he was, proclaiming the food there-in a gift from el Senor himself.

“You’ll like what they sell,” Starsky said confidently, grinning at the dark-haired man who popped up into the cut-out window of the truck.

“How can I help you, gen’lmen?” he asked in an accent that proved that he was born south of the U.S. border. “Tacos, burritos? We have carnitas, beef, even pollo.”

“Carnitas.” Starsky breathed out a reverent sigh as if contemplating a big Mexican lunch with all the fixings.

“I am Pablo, of El Senor Taco, I can provide you with whatever you wish,” Pablo promised, all but snapping his rainbow striped suspenders like a sideshow barker.

“What else do you sell?” Hutch asked, reaching into his pocket at the same moment Starsky reached into his. “Salads? Anything grown in the ground?”

“We have vegetables,” Pablo said a little less confidently. “Avocados! And chiles.”

“No weed?” Starsky asked pleasantly.

“Weed?” Pablo had a panicked look in his eye.

He turned and for the first time Hutch saw a small woman in traditional dress working at the stove top. In Spanish, he told her to grab the stash and run.

Apparently, he didn’t think cops spoke Spanish. “That would be a really bad idea,” Hutch said, holding up his police ID. “Running with the marijuana only makes you look guiltier.”

“Marijuana?” Pablo scoffed. “We don’ have that.”

“Really?” Starsky swung open the door in the rear of the truck, blocking the older woman’s way. “You sure must use a lot of oregano, then.”

The woman scowled at Starsky and tossed a plastic bag full of dried green herbs over his head toward a small lake on the edge of the park. As the bag flew into the sky, a seagull swooped down, plucked the bag out of the air and winged away.

Starsky, Pablo and his sister gaped in shocked surprise.

Hutch inhaled sharply. “Was that your entire stash?” he asked before the rest of them had gotten over their stunned silence.

“Si.”

“Ximena!” Pablo said anxiously. “It’s not… you gonna arrest us anyway?”

“Listen.” Hutch leaned an arm against the window shelf. “You let us look inside, check for any other—”

“Product,” Starsky finished for him.

“Product.” Hutch nodded. “And if there is nothing to find, we can’t arrest you without evidence.”

“Look around the van,” Ximena said graciously, smiling for the first time. “Only tacos, beans…”

“Mexican coke!” Starsky crowed, peering into the small cooler. “Hutch, this is the best stuff!”

“Cocaine?” Hutch asked incredulously.

“Coca cola!” Starsky put two on the counter and backed out of the truck. “We’ll buy two beef tacos with beans, and two cokes. I don’t see any weed, d’you Hutch?”

“Not a leaf or seed,” Hutch said, pushing shut a drawer full of napkins and cups. He could kiss his partner.