Starsky & Hutch Solstice Calendar 2020

#1 – Rain and Shooting Stars

Starsky groaned. “Will this rain ever stop? Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen in this monsoon.”

Hutch huffed. “Will you stop asking that inane question? How the hell am I supposed to know that.  What do you think I am–a meteorologist?”

“What does knowing about shootin’ stars have to do with the weather, huh?”

“A meteorologist studies weather and climate, you birdbrain.”

There was a slight pause. “Oh. Then why name it after shootin’ stars? Sounds kinda stupid to me.”

“Well, you would know.”

“Know what?”

“Stupid, stupid.”

Starsky sneered at Hutch, hoping he could see it in the dark. Then, he said urgently, “Hey, I think Freaky Freddy just showed up. Let’s go!”

In the next second, Hutch was out of the car and started to run toward Freddy’s mom’s house. He stopped short when he realized Starsky wasn’t even out of the car. And he didn’t see any sign of anything or anyone except rain. “I’m gonna kill him,” he uttered through clenched teeth.

He jogged back, his boots seeming to find every puddle so they could splash even more water on his already-soaked cords. When he pulled on the car’s handle, the door didn’t open.

“Starsky! Open the damn door!” he yelled above the pounding rain.

Starsky leaned over and rolled down the window a few inches. He gave his partner an exaggerated look of innocence and said, “Sorry, buddy. I made a mistake. It was really a shadow.” His smile asked for forgiveness.

Hutch brushed his wet bangs over the top of his head. “Fine. Anyone can make a mistake. Now… open the damn door! Right now! Or so help me, I’m gonna be shootin’ Starskys!”

“Well, I guess that really would make you a meteorologist,” Starsky said, a smirk on his lips and an arch to his eyebrow, as he unlocked the door. “Uh, don’t get the seat wet, ‘kay? Merle just detailed her.”

“Starsky!”

Note: The Car Talk stories are a group of stories connected only because the action in each story takes place in a car. The stories are not continuous. 

As far as Starsky was concerned, forgotten doggy bags were fair game. Whatever a rider left in his cab was forfeit. Oh, he’d wait an hour usually, when he wasn’t starving for a burger and limp fries, in case the rider called dispatch to retrieve their forgotten lunch or dinner. But in all the months he’d been driving a hack, only one person had ever returned to retrieve their leftovers. Half a lobster tail. That one, Starsky was glad to be rid of. The taxi smelled like an aquarium for a week afterward. Continue reading →