Disclaimer: The boys don't belong to me. But I can't resist the opportunity to have a little fun with them.
Caught in the Act
By: Vanessa Sgroi
"Man, it's hot in here! What the heck's wrong with the air conditioning?" muttered Starsky, wiping at the beads of sweat inching down his face. The fan on the table in front of him did nothing but push around hot, stagnant air.
"Dunno," sighed Ken Hutchinson, as he held a cold can of pop to his forehead. "I tried asking Jerry from Maintenance a few minutes ago. He bit my head off and would only say it's 'on the fritz' again."
"If I get any hotter, I'll dissolve and you'll be asking Jerry for a mop and bucket to clean up the giant puddle of sweat."
Quiet descended as the enervating heat momentarily took away all desire to talk.
"You know what I could go for right now?" the dark-haired detective mused.
Rolling the first page of a blank report form into the typewriter, Hutch responded, "A cold beer, a bikini-clad beauty, and a white sandy beach?"
"Nah. Strawberry ice cream. One of those humongous monster cones from that new ice cream place—Moo-vers and Shake-ers—over on Lincoln. Have you seen their monster cones?" the question ended on a groan of longing.
Hutch closed his eyes. "Mmmm. Not strawberry though. Vanilla."
"Vanilla? Yuck! I forgot--your choice of ice cream is just as boring as the rest of your food choices." Dave's voice held just a trace of disgust.
"Ahh, but Starsk, there's a certain purity to vanilla ice cream. The sense of something unblemished, like a field of newly fallen snow."
"Snow," grumbled Starsky to no one in particular, "98 degrees outside and he's got the nerve to mention snow."
Lost in fantasy, Ken continued, "It's sweet but not too sweet. Creamy. No annoying chunks of anything to get in your way. And when it's hot, the ice cream melts so quickly that you lick and lick as fast as you can but it still drips all over your hand and the cone gets mushy."
Hutch's eyes snapped open. Abruptly both men stood. By silent agreement, they knew that a trip to Moo-vers and Shake-ers was immediately on their agenda. Grabbing their ever-present jackets, the two men bolted for the door.
"STARSKY!" Dobey bellowed as he bounded through the door of his office and into the squad room. "Just where do you think you two are going?"
The detective stopped in his tracks, his shoulders scrunched up around his ears like a toddler caught making a run for it. He watched Hutch continue on through the door before he turned slowly and said, "Uh . . . well . . . um . . . we . . . that is Hutch and I . . . we . . . we need to go . . . um . . . talk to . . . Huggy."
No fool, Dobey knew when he was being fed a line. He grunted.
"Yeah, well, go on then. But if you happen to find yourself anywhere near that ice cream joint called Moo-vers and Shake-ers, bring me back a giant chocolate shake."
As Starsky whirled to push his way through the door, Dobey yelled, "And don't forget the whipped cream on top!"
OOO-- The End --OOO