DON’T LET YOUR BABIES GROW UP TO BE COWBOYS
BY
(Based on characters created by Aaron Spelling & William Blinn)
Paul Michael Glaser as Detective David Starsky (a.k.a. Dave or Starsk)
David Soul as Detective Kenneth Hutchinson (a.k.a. Ken or Hutch)
ACT ONE - SCENE ONE
“WHERE’S YOUR PARTNER, HUTCHINSON?”
“Oh, he’s on his way captain.” The blonde cop answered calmly.
“He better get his act together damn it!”
“He’s just gassing up the car. No need to get upset.”
“UPSET! I’m not upset!”
“Then why are you shouting… look here he is.”
Hutch sat on the edge of his desk quietly perusing the morning paper. He noticed his partner in the hallway and pointed at him with his coffee cup as he entered the squad room. Starsky stuffed a chocolate iced donut into his mouth and noisily licked his thumb and forefinger. He hummed as he swaggered toward his desk.
“Mornin’.” He greeted cheerfully, oblivious to Captain Dobey’s ire.
He took his place in his chair and tucked himself under the desk - the feet screeched across the linoleum like fingernails on a chalkboard. He clutched a grease-stained paper bag that held several more breakfast treats. Hutch winced when he saw it, disgusted at Starsky’s choice for his first meal of the day. The curly-haired detective reached back awkwardly for the coffeepot that was on the counter behind him. He balanced the chair on its back legs and poured himself a cup. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he noticed his audience.
“What?” He said innocently.
“Where the hell have you been?” Dobey asked - his hands on his hips like a principal scolding a
pupil.
“Ah, well, captain… I was, ah…” He looked over at Hutch who tried to charade the filling of a gas tank. “…umm, I was pouring… I was watering…” He strained to decipher what his partner was covertly acting out. He scrunched his face with puzzlement and cocked his head to try again. “I was watering … my plants?” He sounded unsure.
Hutch stared blankly at the wall then rolled his eyes - disappointed that Starsky hadn’t clued-in to his mime.
“You were gassing up the car turkey.” He sighed.
“Yeah. Dats it. I was gassing up the car Cap.” He laser-beamed a smile at his boss.
“You two are worse than my kids.” Dobey confessed.
“What?” Starsky shrugged. “What did I do?”
“YOU’RE LATE!”
“I am? Late for what?”
“GET IN MY OFFICE!” The burly captain blared. “AND DON’T SLAM THE DOOR!”
“Okay, okay.” Starsky said as he swallowed a large bite of donut and wiped his hands on his pants.
“What’s with him?”
“I guess Edith forgot to pack his Twinkies?” Hutch jabbed as he precariously placed his cup on a stack of files and approached Dobey’s office.
“Tragic.” Starsky chuckled. “Just tragic.”
The two men settled in the seats in front of the captain’s desk and felt like they were about to be sentenced to after school detention. They waited patiently for him to get off the phone. They glanced at one another wondering what was up. When Dobey finally hung up, he folded his hands on his desk blotter.
“Got an under cover assignment for you two delinquents.”
“Delinquents?” Starsky protested. “Ah, come on captain. We put in our time.”
“I WANT YOU HERE WHEN YOUR SHIFT BEGINS! NOT half way through.” Dobey barked.
“Is THAT too much to ask?”
The twosome shook their heads and smirked.
“DON’T PATRONIZE ME!”
“Whatsa matter Cap? You on a diet or something? You always get a little irritable when you’re on a diet.”
“NO! I’M NOT ON A DIET.”
“Well, don’t you think you should be?” Starsky glanced over at Hutch for a reaction to his comment. He didn’t get one.
“LISTEN! I’M DOING JUST FINE. Better than you’re bony ass.”
“Captain?” Hutch asked quietly, uninterested in the exchange.
“YEAH?”
“I hate to interrupt, but what’s the assignment?” Hutch’s voice was so smooth it hung in mid air like a balloon. It instantly calmed his boss.
“Somebody’s killing cowboys.” He responded squarely.
“Cowboys?” Starsky replied perplexed, biting into his second donut.
“On the rodeo circuit.”
“Rodeo circuit?”
“WHAT WORD DIDN’T YOU UNDERSTAND STARSKY?” Dobey stared at the detective impatiently and paused before continuing. “First one in Stockton two weekends ago. Then in Bakersfield on the 31st and last night in Culver City.”
“Oh.” Starsky said simply. “Dat rodeo circuit.”
“THAT’S YOUR TURF.”
“What… da rodeo?”
“NO! Culver City.”
“Yes it is captain.” Hutch kept his satin-like tone. “What do you want us to do?”
“You, Hutchinson, are going undercover as a cowboy and you Starsky,” Dobey cracked a cock-eyed grin, “a rodeo clown.”
“HEY!” The dark haired cop objected like a two-bit lawyer. “How come he gets to be a cowboy?” He sat up right in his seat and pointed at Hutch who chortled under his breath.
“Hutch has some horse experience.” Dobey stated.
“He does?”
“Yes he does. Don’t you Hutchinson?”
“Ah, yeah.” Hutch straightened up. “I spent my summer’s on my Uncle Al’s farm when I was a kid. I told you about that Starsk.”
“Dat was a dairy farm!”
“Horse, cow… same thing?”
“Same thing?”
“They both have four legs and hooves. What more do I need to know.”
“You don’t ride a cow Hutch.” Starsky argued. “See captain. Goes to show you how much he knows about horses.”
“And just how much do you know about them Starsky?” Dobey asked as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms.
“Well… I know what they look like.”
“Like I said.” Dobey resolved, “Hutch is going undercover as the cowboy and you are going under cover as a clown. Besides, Hutch looks like a cowboy. You don’t look like a cowboy, you look like…”
“A clown.” Hutch finished Dobey’s sentence.
“He’s a natural.” The captain proclaimed of the waspy detective.
“The only thing natural about him is his hair and I’m still not sure about that.”
“Whatsa matter Starsk? Don’t you think you’ll make a good rodeo clown? Pretty dangerous stuff you know. Mad bulls charging at you. Keep you on your toes.” Hutch stated still chuckling.
Starsky looked at his comrade like a deer in the headlights. He swallowed hard - his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down. He turned a putrid shade of gray and a slight coating of dew covered his face. His gut flipped.
“You okay Starsk? You don’t look so good.”
“Dis sucks!”
The swarthy cop fell back into his chair knowing his argument was lost. He crossed his arms in a huff. He always wanted to be a cowboy when he grew up. His chin rested on his chest as Dobey continued to give Hutch instructions.
“Justin Webber at the BCPD equestrian unit is going to give you a crash course on hazing Hutch.”
“Crash course is right.” Starsky muttered.
“He’ll set you up with whatever gear you need.”
“Hazing? What the hell is hazing?” Hutch asked.
“HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW? Do I look like a cowboy to you?”
“Nope. No you don’t captain. Got the file on the victims?”
“Yes.” Dobey passed him the paperwork. “Three victims. Troy Donaldson in Stockton, Steve McConnell in Bakersfield and last night Dylan Overbeck.”
“Cause of death?”
“Coroner says Donaldson and McConnell were poisoned. The toxicology hasn’t come back yet on Overbeck.”
“Any suspects?”
“None.”
“Okay.” Hutch corroborated. “We’re on our way.”
“HEY! Wait just one lovely moment here. What about me?”
“What about you Starsky?” Captain Dobey responded coldly.
“What about my training and my gear?” He questioned feeling left out.
“I’m sure Constable Webber can help you too.”
“Oh.” Starsky digressed. “Thanks… I think.”
The men stood and turned to leave.
“Oh and Starsky?”
“Yes captain?” He tore off another morsel of donut.
“Don’t forget your big red nose and Bozo wig.”
“You know…” Starsky retorted with disdain. “Playing bait for raging bulls is not exactly a walk in the park. As a matter of fact its down right dangerous. I could get killed!”
“No you won’t.” Dobey encouraged. “That bony ass of yours can move pretty fast when it has to.”
“Let’s go Clara Bell.” Hutch said as he tugged on Starsky’s sleeve.
“Is this what I’ve got to put up with now? Clown jokes?”
“Fraid so.” Hutch shrugged - his smile widening as he held the door open for his partner to pass through.
“Terrific. Just terrific.”
ACT ONE - SCENE TWO
Los Angeles blistered under the sun of midday. It sparkled off the hood of Starsky’s double-waxed, red Torino like a diamond in a jeweler’s showcase. It made Hutch squint until his eyes were slits. He reached for his sunglasses and slipped them on. Starsky drove in silence, still in a huff - destination, the BCPD Equine Center.
“Oh come on Starsky. If I could, I’d be the rodeo clown, but I’m just not as fast as you are.” Hutch patronized.
“If I wanted to run with the bulls I’d go to Spain.” The dark detective droned.
“It’ll be fun.”
“FUN!”
“Well, sure.” Hutch encouraged.
“Being chased by an incensed, snotty nosed, 1500 pound bull through mud and manure may be your idea of fun Hutch, but it sure ain’t mine.”
“You’re doing me a favour though buddy.” The platinum cop divulged in an attempt to puff up his partner’s ego.
“Favour? What favour?”
“You’re saving my neck.”
“I am?”
“You are far more agile then me Starsk. I WOULD get killed out there. Those bulls would make short work of me but not you. They’ll never catch you. No way.” Hutch waved his hand flatly across his chest with confidence. He winked and nodded at the same time.
“You are so full of crap.”
“Crap? Why… whatever do you mean?” Hutch sounded British.
“Don’t give me that ‘you’re faster then me’ shit.”
“Shit?”
“I know when I’m being set-up. I’m not stupid.”
“I never said you were Starsk. There’s no set-up. What are you talking about?”
“Oh please. Spare me the condescension.” Starsky said with disgust. “You just sit up there on your nice white horse, with your nice shiny boots and your brand new hat - and I’ll do the dirty work like I always do.”
Normally, Hutch would have jumped all over that comment but decided to let it go this time. The last thing he wanted to do was trade assignments with his partner. He really DID want to be a cowboy when he grew up and wasn’t about to loose this opportunity. No, he swallowed his pride and grinned covertly. Nothing more was said between the two men until they arrived at the Mounted Police Equine Center.
ACT ONE - SCENE THREE
The mews were spotless and obviously well managed. The air was fragrant with the smell of sweet hay and cedar-shavings. Starsky and Hutch wandered down the center isle that was floored with rounded red brick. The maple-lined stalls were spacious and occupied by very large, extremely well kept horses. They poked their heads out to sniff the new comers. Hutch reached to pat the forehead of one as he passed. Starsky on the other hand, veered clear of the curious beasts, seemingly afraid of them. He did not possess Hutch’s comfort level when it came to livestock.
Several young people milled about tending to the animals - sweeping and watering. They were obviously students who just loved being in the company of horses and would do just about anything to be there. One of the teens had a horse in cross-ties and puttered about the bay, grooming her happily. Hutch approached and curled his forearm around the horse’s head and bushed her velvety nose vigorously. Starsky watched his partner with envy. He wished he had his confidence.
“She’s a beauty.” Hutch gushed. “She belong to you?”
“I wish.” The pretty girl answered sweetly. “She’s a police horse. Someday I’ll have one of my own.”
“Do you want to be a police officer too?”
“No way!”
“Why not?”
“Don’t like the fuzz.”
“Ah. I see.” Hutch winked.
Starsky smiled charmingly at her then gave Hutch a sly smirk. The nudging of a gelding that decided his leather jacket was fodder distracted him. Starsky pulled away suddenly, spooking the horse. He gave the steed a dirty look as he felt his shoulder only to find a puddle of slim left behind by the horse’s cud.
“Eeeooych.” Starsky spat wiping the mess on his pants. “That horse just attacked me.” He pointed accusingly.
The girl giggled at the cop’s expression. Hutch ignored him.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Officer Webber is would you?” The blonde detective asked still holding the mare’s massive head.
“Sure. He’s in the office down by the arena. Just go down to the end of this hallway and turn right. It’s the door at the very end.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem mister.” She answered pleasantly then resumed her duties.
“Nice horse.” Hutch mentioned as he and Starsky meandered toward the arena. He pointed back at the animal with his thumb over his shoulder. His partner still tried to rid his hand and shoulder of hay juice.
“Yeah, nice and big.” Starsky sounded skeptical.
“Yep, they’re big alright. But they don’t know that.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, horses aren’t the sharpest nail in the horseshoe Starsk.” He laughed at his own pun.
“Oh? And how do you know that?”
“Just the fact that an animal like that would allow man to tame it. You know, let itself be ridden.” Hutch philosophized using his hands to make his point more dramatic. “Allow itself to be ruled by something less powerful.”
“Zat so?”
“Yep.”
“Well, did you ever think that maybe that’s what makes it so smart? Maybe, the horse is so intelligent because it likes the companionship and the partnership it has with man. Maybe, it enjoys working and doing a good job. Maybe, it’s so intelligent it gets bored just standing around in a field and needs the mental stimuli to keep it happy. Besides they eat a lot better in captivity. Maybe they allowed themselves to be tamed so they could be cared for and well fed. Now, THAT’S intelligent. Did you ever think of that?”
“Well… no.” Hutch said amazed at his partner’s insight actually stopping to face him. “But you obviously have.”
“You’re not the only intellectual in this partnership pal. I went to college too you know.”
“Yes. I know that Starsky. I just had no idea you gave that sort of thing any …”
“Any what? Any thought?”
“Well… yeah.”
“Well, I do. I think about a lot of stuff I don’t necessarily talk about with you. I can be sensitive too.”
“Humph.” Hutch breathed somewhat vexed.
“Now let’s find this guy Webber and get out to Culver City before they move to the next town. The suspense of dodging bulls is killing me.”
Starsky continued to walk toward the arena, leaving Hutch standing with his mouth agape. Finally, absorbing the deep conversation he’d just exchanged with his partner, Hutch jogged to catch up to him. They walked side by side down to the office - Starsky grinning with satisfaction.
ACT ONE - SCENE FOUR
“Justin Webber?” Hutch asked after tapping on the door of the stable office.
“Yep. That’s me.”
“We’re detectives Hutchinson and Starsky. Captain Dobey sent us down for some training.”
“Oh yeah. Good to meet you two boys.” Officer Webber stood to greet them - his hand outstretched. “We’ve got everything ready for you. Which one of you is the cowboy?”
“That would be me.”
“Okay detective Starsky.”
“No, no. I’m Hutchinson… he’s Starsky.” The blonde detective corrected.
“Oh. Sorry. Anyway, we’ve got a good sound gelding picked out for you. A veteran hazing horse. He won’t give you any trouble. He knows what to do.”
“Great!” Hutch said before pausing. “Hazing? Ummm - just what exactly is that?”
“He’s the cowboy that keeps the steer straight out of the shoot so he can be roped. There’s a lot of freelance hazers out there. It’s a perfect cover.”
“OH!” Hutch sounded relieved. “Hazing. Yeah… hazing. Okay. I can do that.”
“It’s not as easy as it looks. Shane will do his job which will help a green rookie like you.”
“Shane?”
“Your horse.”
“Ah.”
“You just make sure you hold on tight. They go like a bat out of hell when that shoot opens. Just about give you wipe lash if you’re not ready for it. Just lean forward, give him lots of rein, raise yourself out of the saddle a bit and enjoy the ride.” Officer Webber described with a devious
chuckle.
“Oh.” Hutch didn’t sound as sure now.
“So… you’re the sucker they chose to go under cover as a rodeo clown huh?”
“Sucker?” Starsky gulped.
“Most dangerous job in a rodeo. But most important too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes sir. They are crazy sons-o-bitches. Have their fair share of the four “B’s””
“The four “B’s”?” Starsky gulped again.
“Bulls, broncs and broken bones.”
The curly-haired detective glanced over at Hutch for sympathy or rescue but only received a brow-raised shrug. He returned his attention to Officer Webber. Starsky’s neck had disappeared by this point and his head seemed to rest directly atop his shoulders. He looked dazed - in disbelief of what lay ahead.
“So… who’s going to show me what to do?” Starsky forced the question - his voice cracking under the pressure.
“Rodeo clowns rely a lot on survival instinct but Robert can show you some tricks that will save your ass from looking like a bowling ball.”
“Great… I think.” Again Starsky looked to his partner, scrunching his face at the prospect of being tossed.
“Let’s get to work then eh boys? You’ve got a tough afternoon ahead. Hope you two are in some kinda shape.”
Officer Webber exited the tiny office that smelled of well-oiled leather and burnt coffee. The twosome watched him leave. Both seemed reluctant to follow.
“Come on Starsk. Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Hutch. I’m not sure about this. I got a bad feeling.” He was starting to feel nauseous. “I think I’m going to hand in my resignation. I don’t want to be a cop anymore.”
“Oh grow up will ya. Let’s go.”
“Well… okay… but if this bony ass gets punctured it’s your fault.”
“I’ll take care of ya buddy.”
“Terrific.”
ACT TWO - SCENE ONE
The two detectives were outfitted with an entire rig. It gave the elusion they were a pair of traveling freelance cowboys. It included a fairly new pick-up truck and horse trailer complete with horse.
Hutch was given all the gear he needed - chaps, hat, boots, spurs, and tack. The only thing lacking was confidence, something that seemed to be waning since his training session the day before.
He spent much of his lesson on his butt looking up at Shane who looked down at him as if he was an amateur. The Pinto had his number all right. Officer Webber had certainly put him through his paces. Hutch did okay according to his teacher but had his eyes opened to the art of hazing. He kept telling himself that practice made perfect… he hoped. The rest he would have to make up as he went along. He was so sore he could barely crawl in behind the steering wheel of the pick-up and turn the key.
Starsky on the other hand was in worse shape. He too was feeling his aching muscles. He’d been forced to run around an arena for several hours in deep dirt, which was like wading through sand with wet socks. His thighs felt like tree trunks that were still rooted. He’d only faced a guy running at him with a phony pair of steer horns but he’d never been through a workout quite so brutal. He was given tips on how to avoid being killed - something he was assured would come in handy.
Hutch had picked up his partner at dawn and they headed out to the rodeo site.
“Starsky… what exactly are you eating?”
“A cheese and pickle sandwich.”
“A cheese and pickle sandwich…” Hutch repeated with disgust.
“Yuh.”
“… for breakfast.”
“Ahem.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but what kind of cheese?”
“Cheez Whiz.”
“Starsky, Cheez Whiz is NOT cheese.”
“Oh no? What is it then?”
“It’s processed milk solids with lots of added sodium and nitrates that a human should not eat.”
“Tastes good to me.” Starsky chewed gleefully.
“Just for laughs, what kind of pickle did you slap on there?” Hutch looked over at the sandwich with a sour expression. Starsky sheltered it possessively, afraid it might be taken away from him.
“I don’t know… some kinda sweet pickle I think.”
“Starsk?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Just wondering?” Hutch shrugged.
“Yeah… go ahead.”
“What ever possessed you to put fake cheese and a pickle between two slices of week old bread?”
“It was the only thing I had in the house to eat.”
“Ah.”
“And what exactly did you eat for breakfast Hutch… one of those whipped liver and sea weed shakes?”
“Of course.”
“I can’t think of anything more grotesque than that concoction of ground up animal organs and powdered bottom feeders you drink everyday.”
“I’ll tell you one thing Starsk.” Hutch resolved as he picked up speed to merge onto the highway.
“What’s that?”
“If I was going to be chased around by really, really angry bulls tonight like you are… I’d be much better off with my nutritious breakfast than your poor excuse for one.”
“Oh is that right?”
“Yep.”
“Well, if I’m going to have a last meal, at least it will have some flavour.”
“You got me their Starsk.”
The twosome then rode in silence, both nervous of what lay ahead. Neither one had really pondered the murder case they’d been assigned to investigate, but rather how to keep themselves out of the morgue. They had read over the files of the three cowboys that had been killed, but that was about it. There wasn’t much to read anyway. Three men dead by mysterious circumstances - all three poisoned. End of story. Starsky and Hutch definitely had their work cut out for them - in more ways then one.
Hutch took the off ramp toward the Culver City Fairgrounds where the rodeo had staked itself for the remainder of the week.
“Hutch!” Starsky squawked with irritation. “Do you have to hit EVERY pot hole? I’m trying to put on my make-up.”
“Well, maybe you should have put your face on before I picked you up darling.” Hutch yammered like a hen pecked husband.
“Ha ha.” Starsky faked a laugh. “You were early or I would have.”
“I was right on time. YOU were late as usual.”
“Bitch, bitch, bitch.” Starsky muttered.
“Why are you putting on your clown make-up anyway? It’s hours before the rodeo and we haven’t even been hired yet.”
“I’m practicing.”
“Practicing huh?” Hutch said as he pulled into the participant’s parking lot behind the arena stands.
“Well, I think you should practice running. Your make-up is the least of your worries old buddy. Let’s find the manager and get ourselves into the this game.”
Hutch firmly put his cowboy hat on, grinned at his partner and was about to disembark the truck when Starsky stopped him. He grabbed his arm, squeezing it tightly taking Hutch by surprise.
“Oooch…what?”
“Hutch?”
“Whatsa matter?”
“I really… really don’t want to do this.” Starsky whimpered.
“I told you. You’re going to be just fine. I watched you yesterday. You’re good. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“You know they gave me a full set of pads. A chest protector and shoulder pads and knee pads. THIS IS SERIOUS!”
“I know it is. I have to wear a vest too. It’s just standard equipment.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me wouldja?”
“Starsky.” Hutch gently stated. “Have I ever lied to you before?”
“No. But there’s always a first time.”
ACT TWO - SCENE TWO
“Hot enough for ya?” Came a welcoming voice from across the parking lot.
An older man approached Starsky and Hutch with his hand outstretched.
“Howdy!” Hutch blurted as he guided Shane back out of the trailer.
“Howdy?” Starsky chastised with the roll of the eyes.
Hutch ignored him.
“Where you boys from?” The Walter Brennan lookalike asked.
“Ah… we’re just in from the Texas circuit.” Starsky explained. “Nothing going on down there so me and my partner here decided to give California a try. Got any jobs for hazers or clowns?”
“Always.”
“Great.” Starsky fabricated some enthusiasm. His dried upper lip stuck to his front tooth.
“You must be the clown.” The man pointed at Starsky.
The observation made Hutch chuckle.
“How’d you know that?” The dark-haired detective asked with an insulted tone.
“You still got some make-up on.”
“Oh.”
“Nice Paint you’ve got there son.” The man diverted his attention to Hutch.
“Paint?” He asked.
“You’re horse. He’s a beauty.”
“Oh. Yeah. Ain’t he though.”
Again, Starsky rolled his eyes at Hutch’s attempt at cowboy slang.
“Once you boys get settled, you can go register in barn number two. Maggie will take care of you. Glad to have you aboard.”
Hutch successfully unloaded his steed and tossed him some hay and filled a bucket full of water for him. He gave Shane a comforting pat on the shoulder as Starsky confronted him.
“Howdy? Ain’t he though?” He jabbed.
“What?”
“Pouring it on a little thick aren’t you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Can’t you just talk normal?”
“I am talking normal.”
“Come on.” Starsky gave Hutch a little push toward the barn. “Let’s get this over with.”
ACT TWO - SCENE THREE
The August sun simmered like a pot of over spiced chili. There was a heat wave beginning to boil and it only added to the pair’s angst. They sauntered toward the barn to sign-in bantering all the way. Subliminally, it was their way of comforting each other. At this point it was all they had to keep them on an even keel. They were in over their heads with no way out.
They entered the cool darkness of the barn and stood momentarily to let their eyes adjust. Hutch steered Starsky to a lone table where a middle aged, overly plump lady sat. She watched the men approach.
“Can I help you boys?”
“You surely can ma’am.” Hutch said tipping his hat forcing yet another adverse reaction from Starsky.
“I’m Ken Hutcher and this here’s my partner Dave Starr. I’m a hazer looking for a steer roper and he’s a rodeo clown. Y’all be needn’ a hazer or a clown?”
“Where you boys from?”
“Texas ma’am.”
“Well,” She gave the men the once over. “…they sure do build handsome men in Texas don’t they.”
Starsky and Hutch both sniffed with embarrassment. They smiled shyly.
“Ah shoot. My mama thinks I’m purdy but I’m not so sure about the young ladies.” Hutch gushed.
“Oh brother.” Starsky murmured under his breath. “Will you please.” He sighed.Hutch cleared his throat and asked again about the jobs.
“Let me take a look here sugar.” She put on her bifocals and perused the sheet with a very long, bright pink, polished fingernail. “As a matter of fact, one of our clowns is in the hospital. So we will be needing another one. You’re timing couldn’t be better sweet cakes.”
“Hospital?” Starsky asked with trepidation.
“Yeah. Poor guy.”
“Why’s he in the hospital?”
“Appendicitis.”
“Oh.” Starsky glanced at Hutch with relief.
“What about hazer’s? Anybody need a hazer?” Hutch asked as he cocked his head to check the list.
“Billy Sweeny needs one. So does Donny Drake.”
“Where can I find them two boys ma’am?”
“They are probably at the Flying Bull.”
“The Flying Bull ma’am?”
“It’s the watering hole across the street. Most of the guys hang out there before the show.”
“Well. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“Anytime gorgeous.”
Starsky pulled Hutch away from the table with a jolt.
“Hey watchit!” Hutch protested. “You almost ripped my shirt.”
“I’ll rip something else if you don’t cut the Roy Rogers routine.”
“Okay. Okay.”
“Alright.” Starsky ended the conversation with a large exhale.
Hutch checked on Shane one more time before the partners made their way over to the tavern. The official investigation would begin there. Starsky hoped they might be able to solve the crimes before he had to take center stage in the ring that evening. But, he knew that was unlikely. The men crossed the street and entered the bar.
ACT TWO - SCENE FOUR
As they stepped through the front doors of the Flying Bull, Starsky and Hutch felt like they’d stepped back one hundred years. The only thing that made the place up to date was the cranked air conditioning. They walked out of a blast furnace and into a meat locker. The music blared through an ancient sound system. It made the pair take a step back and wince.
“Conway Twitty should not be played that loud.” Starsky said with a smirk.
The bar was filled with cowboys and it seemed like every one of them was smoking something. The twosome could hardly see the bartender through the gray fog that hung in the air like mosquito netting. They were barely noticed as they made their way to the front where they placed themselves on the only two vacant bar stools.
“What can I get ya?” The extremely large barman asked.
“Couple of beers.”
“Draft okay?”
“Sure.” Starsky and Hutch answered simultaneously.
They were served their drinks and as they took a sip were approached by a young man. He had obviously seen his fair share of the four “B’s”. His jeans were so tight they looked painted on his bowed legs. His belt buckle was as big as a skillet. He wore his hat low and he looked out from the shadow of the brim. His hands resembled crumpled paper bags and the cracks in the skin were black with grim. He had a fresh cut on his face right under his nose. The shirt he wore was crisp and clean and brilliantly coloured in a flame pattern. He was small but powerful and looked so cocky Starsky could almost see the tail feathers.
“Howdy!” Hutch greeted cheerfully.
Starsky elbowed him.
“I mean. How you doin’?”
“Doin’ good. Doin’ just fine.” The cowboy answered. “Ain’t seen you two around. What’s your business?”
“I’m a hazer and he’s a clown.”
“Yep.” The cowboy chewed his tobacco noisily. “He looks like a clown alright.”
“At least I don’t need a frying pan to hold my pants up junior.” Starsky said staring at the man’s reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
“This here’s my State Champion PBR buckle mister.”
“If you say so. Bet it comes in handy when you need to cook breakfast.”
“Listen,” Hutch interjected fearful of a fight breaking out, “We’re just here to pick up some work. I’m looking for Donny Drake or Billy Sweeny. Either one of those boys here?”
The young cowboy finally took his eyes from the back of Starsky’s neck to answer Hutch.
“Donny’s over there… in the black hat and red shirt.” He pointed to the corner of the tavern. “And, I’m Tyson Fraser. You’ll be hearing a lot from me.”
“I’m sure we will.” Starsky muttered - his eyes still locked on the man.
“So. Who are you guys?” Tyson asked.
“Well, I’m Ken Hutcher and he’s Dave Starr.”
“Dave Starr huh.”
“Yep.”
“Well, I know most of the rodeo clowns in every state south of Nebraska and I ain’t never heard of you.”
“Well, you just did kid.” Starsky replied calmly.
“I ain’t no kid!”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Listen mister. Would you care to step outside or should I just kick your ass right here.”
“Right here would be just fine but it’s your ass that’s getting kicked.”
“Whoa! Come on now.” Hutch sounded.
He was standing between them now with the bartender hovering over them waiting to stop whatever might get started.
“Come on Starsk. Let’s go over and talk to Donny. I need the job remember?” He chuckled uncomfortable.
Hutch started to pull Starsky off the barstool and away from the impeding fracas. The curly-haired cop never took his eye off his adversary. Hutch dragged him across the room and sat him next to Donny Drake who seemed irked at being interrupted. Hutch knocked his arm making him spill a full drops of beer on his shirt.
“Hey! Watch it.”
“Sorry.” Hutch apologized. “Really sorry.”
“It’s okay. What can I do for you?”
He seemed friendly enough. He too wore an enormous, silver belt buckle. His skin looked like saddle leather. He sported an old style handle bar mustache and wore his boots over his jeans.
“I’m Ken Hutcher and I’m a hazer lookin’ for work. Maggie said you might need a hazer. Is that right?”
“Yup. I do.”
“Good.” Hutch smiled broadly. Starsky was still focused on Tyson who had returned to his table and circle of buddies.
“You any good?” Donny asked wiping beer foam from his impressive facial hair.
“Course I’m good. Aren’t I Starsk.”
There was no answer.
“Starsk?”
“Um?”
“I’m a good hazer right?”
“Oh yeah. The best Donny. The best.” Starsky made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and winked.
“Okay. I’ll give you a try. I’m entered tomorrow afternoon. That okay with you?”
“Sure thing. That’s fine.”
“Just let Maggie know and we’re all set.”
“Listen Donny?” Hutch leaned in to whisper a question.
“Yes sir.”
“I heard there’s been some trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Yeah. Something about some cowboys dying? You know anything about that?” Hutch asked sheepishly.
“Well I knew the boys. But that’s about all.”
“Know how they died?”
“Nope.”
Starsky was still targeted on Tyson Fraser who glanced over occasionally to make sure Starsky was
at bay.
“Who were the cowboys that died?” Hutch continued the interrogation.
“Steve McConnell, Troy Donaldson and Dylan Overbeck. All steer ropers. All good friends of mine. Why you so curious?”
“Just wondering is all.”
“Well, keep your nose out of it. None of your business. Just stick to hazing and there won’t be any more trouble… you hear.”
“Sure thing Don. May I call you Don?”
“No.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow then.”
Donny Drake did not acknowledge Hutch’s last comment. He returned to his mug of beer and puffed his stogy.
“Let’s go Starsk.”
“What?”
“Let’s go check in to a motel.”
Starsky and Hutch exited the bar. The bright sunlight hit them like a slap in the face. Being in the extreme cold of the tavern made the outside air seem even hotter and Starsky was still hot under the collar from his run-in with Fraser.
“What was that all about?” Starsky said seemingly baffled that anyone wouldn’t like him at first sight.
“What was what all about?”
“Dat guy? What was his problem? He’s askin’ for a boot sandwich.”
“You just bring out the worst in people Starsk. Never mind him.” Hutch said as he crossed the street back toward the pick-up.
“I do not bring out the worst in people.” Starsky mumbled to himself as he followed his partner.
“Let me get Shane into a stall and then we can settle into a motel okay?”
“Yeah okay.”
“This is going to be a tough case Starsk.” Hutch announced - his face scrunched to fight the glare of the daunting sun. “Nobody’s talking.”
“You’ve talked to one guy.”
“Yeah and that guy isn’t talkin’. This is a close knit group and it’s not going to be easy to get answers.”
“You’ll just have to let me do the talking then.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll get them to talk.”
“Oh yeah? And just how do you propose to do that?” Hutch and Starsky were stopped beside Shane. Hutch leaned on the horse casually.
“I’ll use my charm.”
“You’re what?”
“My charm.”
“Okay. But I think you’re going to need all the charm you can get on those bulls tonight don’t you?”
Hutch walked around Shane to lead him into the barn leaving Starsky by himself and wishing he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning.
“You know Hutch?” Starsky called to his friend. “You’ve got a real mean streak in you!”
He threw himself into the passenger side of the pick-up and waited for Hutch to drive them to the local motel. The anxiety he felt was almost debilitating. Would he survive until morning? The murder case didn’t even matter to him. All he cared about was getting through the night intact. His stomach churned, his shoulders tensed and his knees shook.
“What have I gotten myself into?” He asked himself, gazing upwards.
ACT THREE - SCENE ONE
“I feel like an idiot!”
“Well, you don’t look like an idiot Starsk.”
“I don’t?”
“No. You look like a clown.”
“I feel stupid in this ridiculous outfit.”
“That’s what rodeo clowns wear. Remember we’re here on a murder case.” Hutch reminded.
“Don’t worry about what you look like.”
“Easy for you to say Tex.” Starsky turned to look in the mirror. His face was etched with concern.
“I just hope I’m not the next murder victim.”
“Awww, Starsk. Bulls don’t murder people. They kill people but they don’t murder them.”
“You are so funny.” Starsky announced drolly.
“I try.”
Starsky continued to give himself the once over with uncertainty. He wore a pair of blue overalls that were cut off at mid thigh. Colourful bandanas hung from his mid section like flags on a sailboat. His shirt was Pepto-Bismol pink and he sported a wide, bright yellow tie with red Pokka dots. He kept his familiar Adidas and sports socks with maroon and gold stripes. At least he could rely on them. Black kneepads bulged out of the middle of his legs. He wore elbow pads too. To top off the costume he donned a small, black cowboy hat that had a set of horns sticking out of each side.
His face was framed by a perfectly painted white oval. Two circles were left around his eyes. The tip of his nose bore a red diamond. An exaggerated up side down smile covered his mouth. He finished off the paint job with a single teardrop under his left eye.
Hutch on the other hand was dressed in a skin tight, bright white t-shirt that matched his beaming smile. It showed off his fit frame. He wore a tan Stetson and customized it with a silver hatband. His Levi’s were faded blue and neatly clung to his legs. Not too tight - just right. He sported a silver and turquoise watch. The ensemble was finished off with a pair of brown and tan, Tony Lama boots. He was every inch the cowboy.
“You ready?” He asked Starsky from where he sat at the end of his bed.
“I guess so.”
Hutch approached his partner and put his arm around his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I keep telling you, you’ll be fine.”
“I feel sick.”
“Do you want me to trade with you? I’ll be the clown. Do you want me to be the clown Starsky? Because if you really want me to I will.” Hutch offered with a small voice.
“Well, I’m all dressed up now.”
“Yes. Yes you are.” He said relieved. “Let’s go.” Making his escape before Starsky could change his mind.
Hutch bounded toward the door and Starsky shuffled after him as if he was walking from death row to the electric chair. He turned to look back into the hotel room wishing he could just stay put but then closed the door behind him and joined Hutch in the truck for the short trip to the stadium.
ACT THREE - SCENE TWO
Starsky stood in the middle of the rodeo ring. It was brightly lit - blindingly so. The sun was just setting and the combination of lighting gave the scene a deep purple hue. The heat of that day was still evident and the ankle deep dirt steamed under his feet. The crowd was noisy and anxious for the bull-riding event to begin.
Starsky had never quite felt fear like this before. It was the feeling soldiers must have before going into battle. Or a gladiator awaiting the lions. That sick, heavy feeling when the only clue to the fact that you are alive is the explosive pounding of your heart resonating in your neck and forehead.
He’d introduced himself to the two other clowns that were working the event. They welcomed him aboard with a vigorous pat on the back. They stood like bookends on each side of Starsky. They stretched and warmed up for the onslaught of live locomotives that would soon enter the arena. Starsky just stood there like a statue frozen by absolute terror.
He glanced around the crowd to see if Hutch was there. But, he knew Hutch was playing detective, poking around the barns and asking questions about the cowboys that had died. The fact that his partner was no where to be seen made Starsky feel even more vulnerable. Even though he was surrounded by thousands of people he’d never felt more alone.
The announcer’s voice split the air welcoming the crowd and introducing the first cowboy and his
ride.
“Good evening cowgirls and cowboys and welcome to the Culver City Rodeo. Tonight we have several events for your entertainment. The thrills and spills of bull riding is first on the bill and our first cowboy is just about ready in the shoot. This is number 32 - Jimmy Michael’s aboard Jackhammer! Good luck to all our contestants.”
Jimmy Michael’s gingerly placed himself on Jackhammer’s back and Starsky watched with unsettled anticipation.
Then without warning the gate burst open like a lift lock releasing a flood of water and the massive animal began his powerful dance. He threw his head wildly and arched his back trying in vein to dismount his passenger. He bolted straight upwards then forward then back - bouncing around the ring like a one ton Pinball.
Starsky stared wide-eyed. He followed the lead of the other clowns as they moved closer to the action where they squared themselves like linebackers and waited for the eight-second time to elapse. When the alarm sounded ending the ride they moved in to distract the bull. Only then did Jimmy go flying over Starsky’s head. He ducked to avoid a boot to the teeth. The bullrider hit the dirt like a bag of dirty laundry but scrambled to his feet and toward the fencing. Then the clowns, Starsky included, herded the animal toward the exit shoot and closed the gate behind it.
“Dat wasn’t so hard.” He told himself as he took his position back in the middle of the ring and awaited the next round.
Twenty-three more contestants went for a trip that evening and by the time the last one left the shoot, Starsky felt like a pro. He even kind of enjoyed it. When the event was over the three men dressed in colourful rags and face paint congratulated each other on a job well done. Neither man nor beast got injured that night - a rarity. The next night would tell the tale though, as the top 12 would move on to the final.
“How’d you do?” Hutch asked as he greeted Starsky at the gate.
He was so spotlessly clean he shone. His exaggerated toothy grin matched his gleaming white shirt - his jeans the same cobalt blue as his eyes. He looked like an advertisement for Mr. Clean. Starsky on the other hand was so filthy his hair was gray with dust. Sweat smeared his make-up.
“Know what Hutch?”
“What.” He had his hand on his partner’s shoulder but removed it and made a face at the grim left on his palm.
“I did really good!” Starsky said with a sparkle of surprise - chuffed at his performance.
“Good. I told you.”
“What about you? Did you find out anything?”
“I just spent the last two hours scouring all three barns and every trailer and talking to about fifty people and you know what I got?”
“No. What?”
“Diddley - nothing… zilch.”
“Humph.”
“But I did get us something you might be interested in.”
“Oh yeah. What?”
“Dates for tonight.”
“You did?”
“Yep. Guess what my dates name is?”
“Got me.”
“Candy… Cane.” Hutch winked. “Guess what your dates name is Starsk. Go on take a guess.”
“I don’t know… what?”
“Ah come on take a guess.”
“Hutch.” Starsky stated impatiently.
“Marilyn Mon… roe.” Hutch enunciated with an glib expression.
“You’re kiddin’?”
“Nope.”
“Does she look like Marilyn Monroe?”
“Not a bit… but she’s cute Starsk. She’s just your type.” Hutch assured as he stuck his forefinger in Starsky’s chest with reassurance.
“My type huh?”
“Yeah. When she’s not barrel racing she helps out at her father’s lumber yard.”
“Oh. That sounds nice.” Starsky thought a moment. “Aren’t we supposed to be investigating some murders… I don’t… something about a murder.” He said sarcastically.
“We can talk to the girls over drinks at the Flying Bull. Maybe they know something.”
“Can I at least go back to the hotel and shower and shave for this big date you’ve so kindly set up for us?”
“Sure let’s go.”
“Hutch?”
“Yeah buddy?” The two men walked side by side back to the truck like a father and son after a little league game.
“Did you see me in there? Did you see me fighting those bulls?”
“I saw ya Starsk… I saw ya.”
“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”
“Never is Starsky… never is. But don’t get too cocky okay - I already have a bowling ball.”
ACT THREE - SCENE THREE
The Flying Bull was crowded with loud, happy patrons. The smoke still lingered giving the place a cave-like ambience. Elvis sang “Good Luck Charm” through the small, tin- sounding speakers.