A/N: Mention is made herein of a Brooklyn accent. The accent in question is actually from Massachusetts, but the exigencies of fanfic take precedence over fact at times.
Many, many thanks to Cheride for everything, including the helpful beta. Sorry it isn't longer!
UNIVERSAL APPEAL
by
Owlcroft
"Hey, Judge, I'm ho-ome," caroled McCormick merrily as he lowered the two grocery bags to the kitchen table.
The swinging door pushed open and a grumpy voice replied, "Yeah, I heard ya coming down the driveway. Y'know, you oughta get a better horn for the Coyote. That one sounds like Tinkerbell blowing her nose."
Mark grabbed up a banana and waved it threateningly. "Oh, yeah? And exactly how would you know what that sounds like? Hey, that reminds me, I met a guy you know. I'm serious, Hardcastle, do you know people everywhere?" He tossed the banana onto the countertop and continued unpacking produce. "I mean, come on, some little specialty auto parts shop in the middle of nowhere! Oh, Harry said he'd have the coil for the 'Vette by next Tuesday. Here, put this in the fridge, wouldya." He handed over a gallon carton of milk.
The judge sniffed disparagingly. "Two percent? Whaddaya think, I need to go on a diet or something? So who'd you meet that I know?"
"This was great." McCormick started on the second bag of groceries. "I'm just leaving Harry's shop when this sharp-looking car pulls up and I can hear the driver talking to the guy with him, and get this – he's from New York. I'm telling ya, Judge, it almost made me homesick hearing him talk about getting a cup of cah-fee."
"You can tell a guy's from New York by the way he says 'coffee'?" Hardcastle picked up a package of rice mix and put it in the cabinet next to the sink. "Cah-fee? Not caw-fee?"
"Yeah, see, one's Jersey and the other's Brooklyn. No, leave that out, we're having that with the steaks tonight." Mark grabbed the Potatoes Romanoff box from the older man and set it aside. "And when I said something about the Candy Apple Red paint job, we were instant buddies. Hey, get out that saucepan, the one with the cracked handle. And get the milk back out; we need it for this."
The judge sighed and reached back in the fridge for the milk. "So you met this guy –"
"He was just there getting a fan belt, and what do ya know – he's a cop! No wonder he knew who you were. It's really amazing how much I have in common with him, too. He drives around with his partner busting bad guys in his jazzy red Ford and I drive around with you busting bad guys in my grownup sports car."
"Hah!" Hardcastle opened the bag of pretzels and removed a judicious handful. "Grownup sports car, that? More like a teenager's dream."
"Don't eat those, you'll spoil your dinner," said Mark in a patronizing tone. He then mmp'ed and added, "Teenager's dream, huh? That Ford of his with the hot white stripes is more like some kid's toy."
"Ah, yes, the car as an extension of personality," intoned Hardcastle. "We are what we drive."
McCormick removed a few cans of soup from the bottom of the bag, then stared off thoughtfully. "You know, I think I will get a new horn for the Coyote. Something a little more macho."
"It would take more than that, kid." The judge moved the soup from the table to the countertop.
McCormick stared at him for a moment, then his jaw dropped and he assumed a manner of mock indignation. "That's it! Tomorrow at dawn, bananas at twenty paces!"
Hardcastle sniffed in deprecation. "No way in the world you'd get up at dawn just to see which of us is faster at eating a banana. Hey," he looked at one of the cans on the counter. "Tomato bisque? What's that?"
"They were out of regular tomato, so I got that and tomato with rice. One of them's gotta be okay." Mark reached under the stovetop and hauled out a large frying pan. "So, anyway, I told Dave about E.J.'s track and we're gonna go over there this weekend and do some laps against each other. You interested in coming along?" He snickered. "I'm gonna blow his doors off."
Hardcastle took another handful of pretzels. "Maybe you oughta re-think that, sport. It's not such a great idea to have cops ticked at you, especially if you got a lead foot on the gas pedal. And you still haven't told me who you're talking about. I know a lotta Daves in Bay City."
"Oh, sorry." McCormick removed the plastic from the package of rib-eyes and smiled at them in pleasure. "It's Starsky. He's got a partner called Hutch."
finis