Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me; I'm just having a little fun with them.
Santa Claus Lane
By: Vanessa Sgroi
"Ahh, Cap'n Dobey, you're kidding, right?" Dave Starsky moaned.
"Do I look like I'm kidding, Starsky!" Dobey's growl shook the windows.
When silence greeted his question, Dobey blared, "Well, do I?"
Starsky muttered, "No," and slouched further down into the chair,
Standing next to Dave's chair, Ken Hutchinson leaned forward slightly and said, "So, Captain, let me get this straight. You want Starsky and I to go undercover as . . . Santa Claus and his elf.
"That's what I said, isn't it? Don't you two ever listen to me?" Dobey's hand slapped down on his desk. "Over at the new Bay View Promenade Mall, some psychotic has been attacking their Santa Clauses. Two so far. The first just ended up with a broken wrist and bruised cheek. The second man wasn't so lucky. He sustained a ruptured spleen, a broken collarbone, and severe head trauma. He's still at the hospital—in a coma."
"That doesn't make any sense," stuttered the dark-haired detective, "Why would someone want to attack Santa Claus."
"Nothing about this makes sense. But the mall's owners are having ten fits because it's scaring away customers who bring their kids in for pictures. I expect you two to solve this and fast—before Edith takes Rosie to 'Breakfast with Santa' at that very same mall!"
"How long do we have?" asked Hutch.
"Three days," responded their boss, "now go on—speak with Garrett Trix over at the mall. Starting tomorrow you're their new Santa and elf.
O-O-O
"I can't believe this. I just can't believe this," Starsky bellyached as he tugged at the tight green shorts that comprised part of his costume.
"Can't believe what?"
"This!" Dave threw his arms wide, "Look at me! I'm wearing red and green striped tights! Tights! And pointy shoes with bells," he bemoaned.
"Maybe be—" started Ken.
"Man, I'll never live this down. Just why am I the elf, huh?"
"Maybe because you look more like one than me," theorized Ken from beneath snowy white beard and pounds of padding and crushed red velvet.
"You're tellin' me I look like an elf?"
"Yeah, it has something to do with the eyes, I think. Or maybe it's the nose. Or the chin," Hutch narrowed his eyes as he pretended to study his partner's face, "yeah, definitely, the chin."
"Very funny. You're a regular comedian."
"Besides, we flipped a coin—remember? You called tails for the Santa get up."
"I didn't."
"You did. I distinctly heard you say tails. In fact, you always pick tails."
"I . . . umph," Dave's argument was cut off when Hutch drove an elbow into his side.
"Ssh. The kids are starting to line up. Better grab your candy canes."
Grumbling under his breath and rubbing his smarting ribs, Starsky grabbed the red bucket full of peppermint candy canes. He did his best to plaster a smile on his face as the "Santa Claus Lane" attendant opened the gate to the rapid lengthening line of children and their parents.
The first little girl was an adorable redhead, probably around four, attired in green velvet and black patent leather. She gave a timid smile as her mom helped her onto Santa's lap.
Hutchinson smiled. "Well, hello there. What's your name?"
"Tess."
"Tess. What a pretty name. Now, tell Santa, what do you want for Christmas?"
"Um . . . I want . . . I want a doll. A Barbie doll."
"A Barbie doll. Okay. Is that it?"
Beaming, the little girl nodded.
The photographer quickly snapped a photo and Santa sent Tess on her way with a candy cane and coloring book given to her by his trusty elf.
The next half dozen children came and went smoothly, with only one little boy being too shy to sit on Santa's lap.
Glancing at Starsky, Hutch murmured, "Hey, this isn't so bad."
His partner snorted but didn't say anything.
Hutch cheerfully greeted the next family to approach—two happy, but very tired looking, parents with a set of two-month-old triplets. Once their picture was taken, the parents declined the candy canes and coloring books and moved on to do some Christmas shopping.
The next little girl in line, who appeared to be about 8-years-old, was strikingly beautiful. She had blonde ringlets and enormous blue eyes. She looked like an angel. Not in the least shy, she marched right up to Santa Claus and climbed in his lap.
Hutch greeted her with his usual, "Well, hello. And what's your name?"
The blonde glared at him. "Shouldn't you know? After all, you are Santa Claus."
Caught off guard, Hutch stuttered, "Um . . . well . . . you know . . . I . . . there are so many . . ."
The girl sniffed in disgust. "You're not as good as the Santa over at Darcy's Department Store. I bet your beard's not even real." She pulled hard on Santa's white beard.
"Hey, don't do that!"
"Why not?"
"You know what happens if you're naughty, don't you?"
Again the girl made a haughty sniffing sound. "That doesn't apply to me. Mommy says so."
Somewhat bemused, Hutch murmured, "Oookay. So what do you want for Christmas?"
"Forget it. I'm not tellin' you. Or that ugly elf over there. Mommy will just have to take me to Darcy's." The blonde marched away in a huff.
Starsky stared at the little girl. "Ugly? She called me ugly!"
Out of the side of his mouth, Hutch muttered, "Imagine what her mother's like."
Starsky shuddered.
Their day went downhill from there. The little blonde girl's attitude seemed to linger like a cloud and infect most of the rest of the children in line. By the time "Santa Claus Lane" closed for the day, the two detectives were feeling frazzled. As they headed for the store locker room to change, Ken uttered, "I think we need to get extra hazard pay for this assignment."
Dave agreed, "Man, you got that right." He rubbed his shin where a little boy had kicked him. "So did you see anything suspicious?"
"Nope. Nothing."
The dark-haired detective sighed. "That's what I was afraid of."
"Why?"
"Because that means we have to come back and do this all over again tomorrow."
O-O-O
The next morning found the two detectives back in costume and in position as they had been the day before.
Starsky unwrapped a candy cane and bit off a piece. "Let's hope we get something today."
"Yeah, that and I just hope we don't have a day like yesterday."
For most of the morning, Hutchinson got his wish. All the children passing through Santa Claus Lane were exceptionally well behaved and polite. Later he would realize it should have been a warning.
A group of five little dark-haired boys approached accompanied by their very harried-looking mother.
"John, James, Jerome, Jack, and Joey—will you guys behave please? Just long enough for one picture," she pleaded, "Please!"
Eyeing the boys and their too angelic expressions, Ken suddenly had a bad feeling.
The boys' mother skittered back behind the gate and gave them a thumbs up. Suddenly, as if that was some secret signal, the five boys went wild. They became whirling Tasmanian Devils. The two biggest, and presumably oldest, began rocking the ornate chair in which Santa sat, trying to unseat him. The middle boys tore through the standing displays, toppling everything they could get their hands on. One by one, each of Santa's reindeer fell under the boys' assault. Meanwhile, the youngest, Joey his shirt colorfully proclaimed, busied himself with raiding the candy cane bucket and breaking all the peppermint-flavored treats. Starsky attempted to stop him and got bit for his trouble.
The detectives' first thoughts were to identify themselves as police officers and possibly scare the boys into behaving. However, they both realized at the same time that in doing so they would blow their cover. So instead, they both adopted their best 'You're in BIG trouble now, Mister!' voices and began rounding up the little hellions, completely ignoring how ridiculous they must look. It took several minutes and help from Missy the attendant and a mall security guard before the boys were back under control.
After the five boys were turned over to their mortified mother, Starsky and Hutch paused to catch their breath and observe the hellions aftermath. Missy approached and suggested they take an early break while Santa Claus Lane was put back to rights.
Hutch headed for the employee break room but was surprised to see his partner heading in the opposite direction.
"Hey, where're you going?"
"The food court."
Incredulous, Hutch exclaimed, "Dressed like that? Really?"
"Yeah, I'm hoping one of the beauties will take pity on me and slip me a sandwich or a phone number or something."
Hutch snorted. "Good luck with that." He shook his head and watched Dave stroll away, the bells on his shoes jing-jingling with every step.
Twenty minutes later, Starsky found Hutch in the tiny break room with his white beard off, his feet up, and an open can of Coca-Cola in hand.
"So how'd it go?" Ken asked.
"Nada, nothing, zip, zero," muttered Starsky glumly. "My magnetic and mesmerizing charm just doesn't work when wearing this ridiculous get up."
"Well, you can't win 'em all, Hermey."
"Hermey? Who's Herm—oh, that dentist elf in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
Hutchinson tilted his head back and downed the rest of his soda. When he finished, he tossed the can like a basketball into the trash can in the corner.
"C'mon, we should get back. Something's gotta give on this case soon."
The two men trudged out the door and down the hall.
They'd just rounded a corner when Hutch stopped mid-stride. "I forgot the beard. I'll be right back."
He stomped back to the break room, grabbed the beard where he'd left it on the table, and hurried out the door. He hadn't taken too steps along the corridor when he felt a tremendous push at his back that sent him sprawling. Before he could react, someone large and heavy was on top of him, pummeling with fists and feet. Though the Santa padding made it difficult, he managed to turn over and deliver a few blows of his own.
"STARSKY!" he yelled breathlessly. Hutch grunted as a fist connected with his cheekbone.
His partner came at a run and, crouching like a football player, crashed into the attacker in an attempt to tackle him. It was like hitting a brick wall. With loud "oomph" Starsky crashed to the floor, his breath gone.
"Don't just lay there—do something!" Hutch grunted.
The dark-haired detective managed to regain his feet. With a war hoop, he leapt on the assailant's back and held on for dear life. The giant tree of a man reared back and howled. He began spinning to and fro in a dizzying attempt to unseat the hapless detective.
With the perpetrator momentarily occupied, Hutchinson climbed resolutely to his feet. Heaving a disgruntled sigh, he dived for the other man's legs and was finally able to knock him to the ground. By sheer luck, Starsky landed on top of the man rather than underneath. The two men managed, with difficulty, to subdue the still raging individual. Whatever the man was yelling was nearly unintelligible.
"I . . . I," panted Starsky, "I think our guy finally made his move. Where are your cuffs?"
Hutch searched for his handcuffs with one hand. Sensing an opening, the restrained man heaved himself upward and nearly broke free.
"HUTCH—the cuffs!"
With a chagrined smile, Ken finally located the handcuffs and pulled them out.
It took several attempts, but the men eventually snapped the cuffs closed. They rolled the man over and helped him to his feet.
Starsky glared up at the behemoth. "All I wanna know is why? Why attack Santa Claus? Did he leave ya coal in your stocking or something?"
"It's called payback," the man growled, "I owed my ex-partner Trix, man. He had it comin'. I caught 'im in bed with my old lady!"
"He sleeps with your old lady so you beat up his Santa Clauses," muttered Hutch as he rolled his eyes, "Makes perfect sense. Let's go." He tugged the man forward.
Starsky started to follow, but paused when he stepped on something. Stepping back, he saw it was a coin and bent to pick it up.
"Hey, Hutch, hold up. I think you dropped this. Hey—wait—wait a minute—isn't this the coin we used—what the heck—this is a two-headed coin! Hutch! Hutch, you tricked me!"
The angry clank-clang of the bells on his shoes bounced off the walls as Starsky stalked toward his partner.
OoOoO The End OoOoO