December 24th- Cal’s Victory Dance by DPPatricks

Author’s Note: Thank you, Flamingo!

Cal Dobey knew he’d never been this happy before in his life! He’d scored thirty-four points and led Bay City High School’s Bengals to their first victory in ten years over the Los Angeles powerhouse, Mid-Central High.

The bus was raucous to say the least, with his teammates laughing, poking each other as if still in a daze, and reliving every free throw, missed shot and scored point of the entire game. It was heady stuff, especially knowing he’d sunk almost half of those points himself. Still, he felt a little guilty having told Mr. Duncan, their weary head coach, to go on ahead in the assistant coach’s car. Cal had assured both of them that he and Dean, the driver who was a notorious stickler for decorum on his bus — yeah, right, not when the coaches weren’t there — could ride herd. Mr. Duncan and Mr. Jernigan needed a restful trip home more than they needed an hour or so in the company of overwrought teenagers.

Sitting behind Dean, next to his best friend, Josh Winters, Cal took little part in the camaraderie but soaked in the thrill of victory. He could hear Jim McKay’s voice in his head as a mantra, knowing it would be a long time — at least a whole week — before he’d be willing to listen to the second half of that well-known phrase, “… the agony of defeat.” Tonight’s win was sweet and he was bound and determined to enjoy it!

“Hey, Cal!” Josh elbowed him in the ribs and pointed out the window. “Is that your dad come to congratulate you? Or did he send us an escort?”

Cal glanced outside to see a black-and-white cop car alongside the bus, its light bar flashing and its siren only now making itself heard over the hubbub inside the bus. The uniformed officer in the passenger’s seat was motioning for Dean to pull over. Cal felt a sudden chill and, being a police officer’s kid, didn’t try to brush it aside.

The bus slowed as Dean followed instructions, turning the big vehicle off the freeway at the first exit and stopping as soon as safely possible on a multi-lane surface street. The patrol unit pulled diagonally across the front and nosed in to the curb, its lights still flashing but siren mute.

Out the windshield, Cal saw the car’s passenger jump out and move toward the front doors of the bus, waving for Dean to open up. The car’s driver was only a few steps behind and Cal’s disquiet deepened; the driver’s hand was on the butt of his weapon.

“Something’s wrong,” Cal whispered to Josh before Dean opened the doors and both officers leaped up the two steps. The passenger stood at the head of the aisle while Cal’s teammates nudged each other, still in their high spirits, and took their seats. The patrol unit’s driver moved over behind his partner and hemmed Dean in place.

“We’re looking for Cal Dobey!” The squad car’s passenger quickly scanned the expectant faces staring at him before beginning to walk toward the back.

“Whaddya want with him?” Jim Nelson stood up at his window seat half way along the aisle. “His daddy send ya t’ keep him outta our clutches for the celebration?” This set off a chorus of rowdy laughter, back-slaps and shoulder-punches.

Under cover of the hilarity, Cal leaned toward Josh, his voice barely audible. “They’re not cops. Light bar on the car’s wrong, there’s no motto on the door, and look at their shoes. Accepted footwear for uniforms is not sneakers!”

To his credit, Josh didn’t question Cal’s tense words, he checked out the things Cal had mentioned and gave a subtle nod. “What do we do?”

“Wait.” Cal sat back in his seat and appraised the driver of the phony police car, a man he mentally labeled, Fake Two, since he didn’t seem to be the one in charge. Tall, skinny, pale-faced and sweaty, he never took his hand off his gun or his eyes off his stalking partner. Not doin’ such a good job of looking non-threatening are you, fella? Cal thought.

Wishing he hadn’t talked Coach Duncan into going with Mr. Jernigan, Cal rose to his feet. He put a hand calmly on Dean’s shoulder and looked around at Fake One, the evident leader of this pair, who had his back to him.

The noise inside bus dropped to silence. Fake One turned to look at Cal who put the firmest tone he’d ever managed into his voice. “I’m the team captain. You guys have a warrant for Cal Dobey?”

Fake Two stepped away from Dean and into Cal’s face, his snarl definitely not department-issue. “You got a big mouth, boy. Keep it shut unless you’re the one we’re lookin’ for!”

Fake One hurried back to the front and drew his partner away from the confrontation. “I told you I’d do the talking.” Turning to Cal, his squinty eyes scanned up and down, clearly unimpressed with what they saw. “You Dobey?” Cal didn’t blink or reply and Fake One must have mentally dismissed him because he shook his head. “We’re not gonna hurt ya, kid. Sit down.”

Not breaking eye contact, Cal took his seat. The man turned away and, looking at the faces returning his stare, he put on a patently false smile and tried to appear ‘official.’ “We need to take Cal to his parents. There’s been an accident.”

Cal felt his stomach clench and his heart rate pick up before his common sense could take over. When it did, after only a second, he knew both statements were lies. His parents and Rosie were safely at the Siegals’ house tonight. He’d dropped them off there himself before driving to the high school to catch the bus. The Siegals hosted a per-game party with other team members’ families. Afterward, Cal’s folks were to stay for dinner and would probably still be toasting the Bengals’ victory with coffee and hot cocoas. Cal knew they wouldn’t be headed home until he arrived to pick them up. This was a set-up meant to lure Cal away from the bus and his teammates.

Cal and Rosie had been thoroughly inculcated into the reality of what being the children of a police captain could mean. Neither of them ever took personal safety for granted, but they didn’t live their lives in fear either. Cal knew though, that he had to do whatever he could to protect his classmates. He sucked in a breath and started to get up again.

Josh put a firm hand on his arm, keeping him seated, and stood up. “I’m Cal Dobey.”

Fake Two snorted his disbelief. “The fuck you say!”

Fake One glared at Fake Two until he subsided to mere surliness. Turning slowly and transferring his stare to Josh, Fake One appeared angry, stunned and confused, all at the same time. “The kid we’re lookin’ for’s black!”

Josh laughed and, to the false officers, it might have sounded genuine. Cal, and probably most of his teammates though, could hear the tension. “Well, I am Calvin T. Dobey and I ain’t black! So the rest o’ your information must be just as lame.” He made a ‘shooing’ gesture with both hands. “Get off this bus! We’ve got some celebratin’ t’ do and you’re holdin’ us up!”

Cheering broke out along with “You tell ‘em, Cal,” “Sic ‘em!” and a few other well-intentioned encouragements until Fake One roughly pushed Josh back into his seat.

“Shut up, allaya!” The guy was clearly in no mood for any more levity. “Now, for the last time, which one of you is Dobey?”

Mel Stevens leaned on the seat back in front of him. “That’s me, Officer. I’m Cal Dobey. Sir.”

Cal almost snickered but, before the sound of the words had died out, Jim Nelson, next to Mel, stood up again. “He’s a liar! I’m the real Cal Dobey.” He gestured broadly around at all the guys now standing at their seats or in the aisle. “Ask ‘em! Ain’t I the one who scored thirty-four points tonight?”

“Shit, no! I did! I’m Cal Dobey!” The voice was so hoarse Cal didn’t recognize it.

With that, three more members of the team, two of them black, shouted their claim to the name.

Feeling utterly blown away, Cal only had one cogent thought. While his friends loudly congratulated each other on totally confusing things, he leaned against Josh and whispered, “They’ve all seen Spartacus entirely too many times.”

Josh smothered his smile and chuckle.

Fake Two drew his gun and fired a shot through the ceiling. Complete stillness followed during the moment it took for an obviously furious Fake One to wrench the weapon away from his cohort. “You fool! We’ll never get cooperation now!”

“We weren’t gonna get it anyway! I just cut through the crap, that’s all.” Fake Two grabbed his gun back and kept it in plain sight, clearly unrepentant.

Fake One lowered his voice and leaned closer to his ally. “There are ten black kids on this bus. We can’t take all of them!”

Fake Two straightened up and actually smiled; it was ugly but it was a smile. “‘Course we can. We got a bus!” He clamped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This good ol’ boy is gonna follow you like a horny hound behind a bitch in heat.” He leaned threateningly over into Dean’s face. “Ain’t that right, Good Ol’ Boy?”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Cal’s in the rearview mirror and Cal nodded, making sure both Fakes saw it.

“Sure thing.” Dean’s voice was only slightly shaky. “Whatever you say.”

Fake One didn’t look pleased and Cal could still hear the harsh whisper. “Pop didn’t say to bring the whole friggin’ team! He said to bring Dobey!”

Fake Two dropped his voice as well. “Listen, Dickless –”

“Don’t call me that! Pop put me in charge only because he’s too old to be a believable uniform cop. You do what I say!” Fake One visibly calmed himself down. “Do you understand?”

The second phony police officer glared but subsided. “And what do you say, Richard?”

Fake One glanced around and caught Cal watching but Cal didn’t look away. The counterfeit cop moved closer to his companion. “Okay, we’ll take ‘em all. Pop can sort ‘em out when we get there. It’s been years but I’m sure he’ll recognize which one’ll get Captain Dobey to come to us.”

A gleam appeared in Fake Two’s eyes. “And then…?”

“You know the answer to that, stupid! Pop’s the one that’ll decide what happens, not you. He’s been waiting years for a chance at a little payback.” He slapped his apparent brother’s shoulder hard and turned toward the door. “Stick close, asshole.”

Fake Two pulled the lever and closed the doors once Fake One was outside. “That’s Mister Asshole to you, Dickless,” he muttered. Pointing his weapon at Dean, he growled, “You heard the man.”

When the patrol car had backed away from the curb and pulled into the right hand traffic lane, its light bar off now, Dean put the bus in gear and set out after it.

Fake Two leaned casually against the dashboard, keeping the gun across his crotch. His expression plainly conveyed a lack of admiration for high school basketball players, among other things.

Over his shoulder, Cal saw that many of his teammates were standing at their places so that they could see over the seat backs. For the most part, Cal thought they looked more angry than scared. He knew that could be a good thing but he also knew it could get them in deep trouble.

“Where are you taking us?” Cal was pleased that his voice was level and reasonably steady. Josh surreptitiously pressed his knee against Cal’s and Cal was grateful for the support.

“You’re the team captain, right?” Fake Two had probably tried to keep the sneer out of his tone but had failed miserably. “You gonna speak for these snot-nosed wimps? These kids you think are your bosom buddies? You think they’d stand up for you?”

“Actually…” Cal sent appreciative looks at each of his friends, “I know they would.”

“Bullshit!” Fake Two absent-mindedly dug the toe of his sneaker under the strip of yellow tape that marked the line behind which people are supposed to stand. His rough voice and mean eyes gave the impression that he’d love the chance to shoot someone. “Nobody’s your friend, boy. Get that through your head right now! Even family’ll turn on ya!” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “My brother out there? He’ll back me ‘til he sees a better way t’ go. Then he’ll ditch me so fast, my head’ll spin.” His face looked as if it would crack if he tried to smile now. “Unless I was expectin’ it.”

Cal had no illusions about the fact that, if these guys got the bus to wherever they were taking it, the situation could become exponentially worse. They were heading east, out of town on surface streets, and the sham patrol car made sure it didn’t leave the bus behind at any of the innumerable stop lights. None of his teammates said a word as the miles clicked under them and most of them sat back down.

After his earlier diatribe, Fake Two was having a muttered conversation with himself. Cal heard, “Mama Crawford didn’t raise no chicken-shit dummy,” and, “Dickless better not try to mess with me. I might just have to show him which son is really Pop’s favorite.” He waved the gun around at times as if threatening an invisible someone. Cal fervently hoped the weapon didn’t have a hair trigger.

It seemed like hours had passed but Cal was pretty sure it wasn’t much more than thirty minutes. He had to think of something now, while the two men were still separated. Fake Two had to be disarmed first. Then, maybe Dean could ram the back of the car ahead hard enough to cause it to crash. They’d be able to race away, find a phone booth and call for help. It wasn’t much of a plan but it was the best Cal could think of. When he noticed something out of the left corner of his eye though, his thinking changed radically.

Trying not to show his heightened alertness, Cal glanced out the window. A brief glimpse was all that was required because, matching the bus’s speed in the left lane was a candy-apple red car, its white stripe nearly glowing as both vehicles passed under widely-spaced street lights.

Tearing his eyes away from the vision of possible rescue, Cal noticed several of his classmates edging out of their seats and into the aisle, moving slowly forward; they must have seen the car, too, and were ready to take part in whatever was about to happen.

Fake Two pushed off the dashboard, stepped on top of the yellow line, and pointed his gun at the nearest heads. “I’m warnin’ ya! Stay back!” The team members stopped moving forward and stayed where they were.

Cal risked another moment’s look outside and saw Hutch give him a thumbs’ up as Starsky increased speed and pulled up next to the patrol unit.

Focusing back on Fake Two, Cal’s left-side peripheral vision saw Dean reach down next to the door and pick up the vehicle’s ice scraper. It was so old and rarely used the handle was probably moldy and the rubber flange dried out but it would be a dandy weapon. Dean caught Cal’s eyes in the huge rearview mirror as he laid the handle across his lap, the blade-end hidden in the shadows next to his left thigh.

Cal stood up and Fake Two turned toward him, brandishing the weapon. “Sit down, kid!”

Probably having seen Dean’s move, too, Josh stood up next to Cal, forcing Fake Two to keep his attention focused on them.

The bright red car was well-known all over school as the ‘parade float’ driven by one of Captain Dobey’s best detectives and Dean had obviously noticed it. He suddenly splayed the fingers of his left hand on the wheel in what Cal took to mean a ‘stop’ gesture at the same time his right hand tightened on the scraper’s handle.

Many things happened almost simultaneously in the next few moments and Cal was only able to sort things out much later. Josh, possibly having seen Dean’s preparations, as well as the Torino moving past them, suddenly fell to his knees, clutching his stomach and screaming in supposed pain. The Torino cut in front of the cop car as Dean slammed on the brakes bringing the large vehicle to a screeching halt.

Fake Two, surprised by the sudden deceleration, lurched backward into the path of the swung ice scraper. The arc brought the weapon into the backs of the phony cop’s knees. Fake Two’s legs buckled just as Cal saw Starsky jump out of the red car, which was stopped so close to the black and white, neither Hutch’s door, nor Fake One’s could be opened. Starsky slid across both cars’ hoods while Cal, Josh, and what felt like half the rest of the team swarmed over their would-be kidnapper, forcing him to the floor.

Fake Two’s gun hand was firmly clamped in both of Cal’s, the barrel pointing hopefully harmlessly toward the ceiling, when the doors of the bus folded back. Starsky burst in, his Beretta gripped in both hands. Taking the situation in immediately, the curly-haired detective reached down and twisted the gun out of Fake Two’s fingers, patently not caring whether he broke a few in the process or not, and slipped it into the waistband at the back of his jeans.

Cal released his vice grip and stood up so that Starsky and Josh could flip Fake Two onto his stomach and a pair of handcuffs could be applied.

“Geez, Cal,” Jim Nelson shouted, pointing out the front of the bus. “We got a track meet goin’ on!”

Cal looked out the windshield in time to see Fake One, who had probably scrambled out the open passenger’s door of the pretend squad car, running for all he was worth.

Hutch, obviously having slid under the Torino’s steering wheel and out Starsky’s side of the car, was in full-stride pursuit, his long legs pumping effortlessly. The tall, blond detective caught the fleeing felon, tackled him, and took him down.

Cal’s teammates began cheering and Starsky, watching the end of the chase with a foot in the middle of Fake One’s back, beamed. Applause joined the spirited yelling as Hutch flipped the miscreant over, cuffed him, and hauled him to his feet.

Starsky glanced at Cal. “Want to know what his nickname was in high school?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He told me one night when we’d had a few too many beers.” Starsky’s expression said he shouldn’t be giving secrets away but his smile said he couldn’t resist. “That graceful, fluid sprint just brought it back to me.”

“What was it, Detective Starsky?” Nelson asked politely. “We’ll never tell.”

Starsky’s expression was full of pride. “The Gazelle.”

Before anyone had a chance to comment, two genuine uniformed BCPD officers crowded onto the bus, took charge of Fake Two and dragged him out.

Cal heard audible sighs and a few coughs among his teammates. After only a moment or two, strained laughter signaled the return of only-slightly-forced high spirits. A potentially deadly situation had been avoided by Cal, Josh, Dean, and every member of the Bengals, and they knew it.

Cal’s knees felt weak but before they had a chance to give out on him, his father jumped — yep, he actually jumped — onto the bus, shouldered past a grinning Starsky, and enfolded Cal in his arms. Without hesitation, Cal returned the embrace, truly happy to put the fraught circumstances of the past hour or so behind him.

With hoots and ribald laughter being bandied about the bus, Cal backed out of the embrace. But the happiness he poured into his father’s worried eyes seemed to banish the residual concern and his dad’s smile washed over him.

In true sportsmanship, the few bus occupants who had been inclined to sarcastic comments were overborne by the rest of Cal’s friends until only cheers could be heard.

Probably knowing he shouldn’t be demonstrating such blatant emotion, but unable to contain it, Cal’s father put a hand to the side of Cal’s face. And, realizing he’d never given either of his parents cause for such fear before tonight, Cal covered the hand with his own. “How’d you know?”

His dad stepped back but Cal didn’t relinquish his hand. Looking around at all the excited faces, his father cleared his throat twice and Cal, without anyone noticing, he hoped, squeezed the hand.

The pressure was returned as his father gazed at the rapt faces. “Someone reported the shot, saying it seemed to have come from a bus with the team’s name on it.”

“Boy,” Josh said, “a whole bunch of people did a lot of putting things together and getting help out to us in an awful short time.”

Cal’s father smiled. “Seems to me you guys did a pretty good job of taking care of things in here all by yourselves.”

Out the windshield, Cal could see both fake cops being hustled into the back seat of a genuine black ‘n’ white, before it was driven away, siren blaring and real light bar flashing. “I think their names are Crawford, Dad. One’s Richard. Don’t know the other one’s first name.”

His father’s face paled as badly as Cal had once seen it do when Warren Moon’s name had been mentioned. “Crawford?”

“Yes, sir. That’s what I’m pretty sure I heard.”

“Starsky!” The detective stepped to Cal’s father’s side. “Didn’t we get a memo about Richard Crawford, Sr.?”

Hutch climbed into the bus right then and Starsky turned to him. “Richard Crawford, paroled last month, right?”

Hutch only had to think about it for a split-second. “Right. Good behavior.”

“Parole Board’s gonna be tryin’ to cover their asses on this one.” Starsky didn’t attempt to hide the disgust in his voice or on his face.

Hutch’s expression was equally sullen. “You and Elmo Jackson put him away, didn’t you, Captain?”

Cal’s father nodded. “We did. Couldn’t get him for First Degree but Second Degree, plus a whole slew of other charges, got him twenty-to-life.” He stared out the windshield at the continuing activity surrounding the fake patrol car and nobody interrupted his memory-search. “Wife and two children left the state, as I remember.”

Starsky and Hutch stared out the window, too. “Well,” Starsky said, “it appears the kids came back.”

After a few silent seconds had passed, Cal couldn’t contain his questions any longer. “What are you guys doing out here though, Uncle Starsky? Uncle Hutch?”

The dark-haired detective shrugged. “Couldn’t have kept us away once we heard about it. Right, partner?”

Hutch nodded emphatically. “Starsky thought if he drove beside the bus long enough for you to recognize the Torino we might have a chance of taking over the fake squad car and the bus at the same time.” He glanced out the window, probably trying to imagine what Cal might have seen, before he went on. “If you hadn’t noticed the car, Starsky decided he was going to cut in front of the bus so closely the driver would have to slam on the brakes. I was going to jump out and get in here, hopefully before the guy who had you all covered could regain his balance.”

Cal was shocked and stared at Starsky. “You were going to risk wrecking the tomato?”

Hutch put an around his partner’s shoulders. “He’d have done it without a second thought, Cal.”

Cal swallowed his amazement; he’d have to take his ‘uncle’ aside at some point and, without embarrassing either one of them, express his gratitude.

“You saw that the clown in here had a gun on us?” Jim Nelson asked.

Cal’s dad nodded. “We’ve had unmarked cars around you for the last few miles. The guy in here wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention.”

“If the red car had stopped only the bus though, wouldn’t that have let the other guy, the brother, get away?” Josh seemed to be having trouble with that thought.

“Maybe.” Cal’s father lifted a shoulder. “But the people in here were our first priority.”

“Wow!” Jim Nelson swept his gaze over the rest of the team. “We’ve all heard the stories about you and that car, Detective Starsky. It’s really cool that you’d consider wrecking it just to help us.” He glanced around again. “Let’s hear it for Starsky and the Gazelle!”

At that, every member of the Bengals, including Cal and Josh, erupted in fresh cheers and applause.

Hutch cast Starsky a baleful glare. “You didn’t.”

Starsky didn’t appear the least bit chagrinned. “Shoulda seen yourself, buddy. You get hit with the clumsies once in a while but, when you run like that, it’s just… beautiful!”

Cal had never seen Hutch blush before but he did right then. “I’ll get you for this, Starsk,” he whispered.

Starsky, appearing totally unconcerned about potential payback, put his hands up, palms outward in a ‘no, no, please,’ gesture until the noise died down. Then, with only a brief look at Hutch, the two of them began their own applause for the Bengals, their hands held high.

“You guys were all great!” Hutch yelled.

“And you beat Mid-Central!” Starsky added.

Hoarse cheering, even louder than before, broke out again and Cal found himself swallowing tears. The team’s victory had been terrific but this… this was something Cal Dobey would remember for the rest of his life.

Basketball glory
takes a decided back seat
when lives are threatened

The Good Guys come through
Bad Guys are taken away
and all’s well at last