Sam and Effie are having a conversation.
Written for Curlew, sparked by a discussion about the dreich weather in the UK.
“It was a dark and stormy night.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I am not writing a report that sounds like something out of one of your ham-fisted, hard-boiled pulp magazines.”
“Hey, if it’s good enough for Snoopy, it’s good enough for Dobey.”
“I said no, Starsky.”
“Besides, you’re not writing it, I am. You’re just my secretary. So make like a good Girl Friday and take this down, will you? I’d do it myself, but—”
“Okay, okay. Fine.”
“From the top, Effie: It was a dark and stormy night.”
“Yeah, yeah, got it.”
“Suddenly, a shot rang out.”
“Starsky.”
“I was hit.”
“Damn it—”
“But Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson, he saved the day. He took down the two Syndicate hitmen who were there to assassinate mob boss Vic Monte. He did so while protecting the hostages, showing uncommon valor—”
“Knock it off! I’ve had enough.”
“Aw, wait. Come back, Hutch. C’mon, don’t make me chase you.”
“You can’t, anyway.”
“The hell I can’t. Got shot in the back, not in the leg.”
“Don’t! Stay in the bed, you—”
“I will if you will. Right here, sit next to me. That’s better.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“What? Just making my eyewitness report, like Dobey asked.”
“No, why are you trying to make me out to be the hero?”
“‘Cause you are, buddy.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And stop looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Sad, like you…”
“Like I lost my best friend? Well, I almost did.”
“Don’t be stupid, I’m right here.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, come on. It ain’t your fault I got shot.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts about it. We were only there because I wanted Italian, remember?”
“I know.”
“So if anything, it’s my fault I got shot.”
“Now who’s being stupid?”
“Just following that train of thought to its logical conclusion.”
“You and logic have never been on the same train together, pal.”
“Oh, now you’re just being mean.”
“Sorry.”
“Wow, an apology? I must be worse off than I thought.”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s better. So can we finish that report now?”
“I’m not writing down any more of your purple prose and hyperbolic narrative. Just the facts, Starsky.”
“Fine. Here’s the big one, the only one that matters: You got us out of there alive. Okay?”
“…Yeah, okay.”
“Good. Period, end of report.”
“Alright, mushbrain. I better get going. See you tomorrow.”
“Good night, schweetheart.”
For the record, an episode tag for Shootout. Starsky is channeling the old time radio version of Sam Spade, as performed by Howard Duff (except the ‘schweetheart’ at the end, which is pure Bogey, always).
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