(A silly little morning after the night before tale) 

Hutch hadn’t seen Starsky since the 25th. For once, he had some leave to take so he went to Minnesota to see how his parents were adapting to their new life.

He stayed for New Year’s and woke late on the first day of January with a hangover!

Not that Starsky felt much better on January first. His head hurt and he had cotton mouth in a bad way. He woke up to find that he’d been asleep on the pool table in The Pits. That puzzled him because he could have sworn he’d gone back to the apartment of a very foxy chick that he’d met at the party. Dragging his bleary brain into some kind of focus he recalled that the party had been for Thanksgiving.

“OK, so what am I doing on a pool table?” He asked himself out loud.

“Could be worse; you could’ve slept in the pinball machine.” A voice said somewhere near his left ear.

He closed his eyes and tried to turn his head to where the voice had come from.

He opened one eye and saw that he was being watched by a tiny black man wearing outlandish clothes. He opened the other eye.

“Huggy! What in the fuck happened to you?”

The mini Huggy squeaked something back at him, but Starsky couldn’t make it out.

He closed his eyes because his head was hurting; and he could hear what Huggy was saying clearly again. “Oh great;” he thought, “if I close my eyes I can understand him.” He kept his eyes closed and said, “Run that by me again, Hug, willya.”

“Man I don’t know what’s happening. I mean one minute we were partying and singing Auld Lang Syne and the next minute phoosh!”

“Phoosh?”

“Phoosh! I mean there I was chatting up this wonderful lady, and next thing I know I’m looking at the heel of her shoe–which is taller than I am! Then she upped and went, and I was in danger of being stomped on, so I climbed up onto the pinball machine. I guess I must have fallen in through the coin slot because when I woke up I was being threatened by a flipper!”

Deep throaty laughter filled the bar and Starsky made a huge effort to sit up. He rubbed his eyes and something made him look over to the bar.

Sitting on the bar; his huge feet on the floor and his head almost touching the ceiling was a big dark-skinned guy wearing the weirdest threads Starsky had ever seen in his life–and that included anything Huggy might sport!

The guy was wearing a tiny pink waist-coat vest; green baggy pants, and he had long curly-toed orange slippers on his feet. He wore a purple turban and he was holding what looked like a model Torino in his hand.

His laughter filled the room again; then a booming voice said, “He woke up. The little man with the pretty car woke up.”

Starsky looked at this apparition out of the corner of his eye. He needed coffee badly and a glass of water and a pee–not necessarily in that order. He swung his legs over the edge of the pool table–a squeak warned him that he had nearly sent Huggy flying.

He stood unsteadily and looked at the Genie. “I’ll be right back,” and he made for the men’s room as fast as his fragile state would let him. Starsky stood at the urinal doing what felt like a never-ending piss; the Genie appeared beside him and started to pee too–his was purple! Starsky, being well brought up (if a little rough at the edges sometimes), tried to stay nonchalant and not stare. He zipped his jeans; washed his hands and went back into the bar.

Huggy was running along the edge of the pool table and Starsky stopped and gently put him on the palm of his right hand. He carried Huggy like an experienced waiter carries a tray–palm flat, hand at shoulder level–and placed him ceremoniously on the bar counter.

Starsky went round behind the counter and started making coffee. He asked the tiny figure if he wanted some and Huggy nodded. Starsky hunted around for something small enough to serve Huggy his coffee in and finally he took the capsule off a whisky bottle. He spooned coffee into the capsule and set it down beside his friend. He served himself in the biggest cup he could find. He leaned against the wall behind him and sipped his coffee; he stared at the Genie who was still holding the tiny Torino in his hand.

“I sincerely hope…” Starsky said in the flat tones that Huggy recognized as meaning trouble. “I sincerely hope that you are not holding my car in your hand.”

The Genie laughed. “It’s a pretty car.”

“Yeah; it’s a pretty car; it also happened to set me back a few thousand bucks–and I get very upset when something happens to it!”

The Genie raised an eyebrow. “The pretty car can take me home.”

Starsky gulped some more coffee. “It can? Well let me tell you something, buddy; my pretty car ain’t taking you nowhere while my buddy Huggy is pint-sized! So if you wanna go home you’d better do something about that!”

The Genie grinned and held the tiny Torino out to Starsky. “Rub it and make a wish!”

Starsky gave him a sour look. He took the tiny car and inspected it closely. He could see the Motorola, and the Mars light stashed under the dashboard. He felt sick.

In fact he felt very sick; he clutched his stomach and turned to the sink behind the bar and threw up the coffee as well as what was obviously the cause of his hang-over. He flushed the sink clean by running the faucet hard; then, wiping his mouth, he turned back to the Genie.

“This is my car; isn’t it?”

The Genie looked sheepish. “I wanted to go home. I tried my spell on your friend to make him take me home but it didn’t work–that’s why…” he nodded to Huggy. “Then I went outside and I saw the pretty car and…”

“You put a spell on my car!” Starsky could just about keep it under control–he didn’t know whether to laugh or get mad with this over-sized tub of lard in fancy dress. “Ok; so I have to wish. Hey wait a minute; why can’t you wish?”

“No wishes for Genie; only spells.”

Starsky held the tiny car in his hands. He started to rub it and then thought of the problems that might be caused if his wish came true inside the bar.

“Come with me! I want you where I can see you.” He said to the Genie.

Starsky went up and out into the morning sun. His eyes exploded and he groped in his pockets for his Ray-bans. “Fuck! They’re in the car!”

He stood by the edge of the sidewalk and checked that no one was watching. He placed the tiny car on the tarmac and rubbed it and made his wish.

There was a bang.

There was a big flash and a puff of pale green smoke.

Standing in front of him was the car–unscathed. He opened the door and reached to the ledge behind the steering wheel; he took out his Ray-Bans and shoved them up his nose to get maximum protection for his eyes.

“The pretty car! The pretty car is big again!” The Genie was chuckling like a kid in a candy store. “Pretty car can take me home now!”

“Not if I’m not driving it, it can’t.” Starsky snarled. “And I have other business to deal with first.” He started back into the bar and stopped dead at the door.

To get his wish he’d rubbed the tiny Torino. So how did he get any other wishes he might have coming to him–in all the movies he’d ever seen the hero usually got three, after all.

“Hey,” he shouted to the Genie, “come over here!”

The Genie was beside him in an instant. “Yes?”

“Ok. I rubbed the car and I wished. So do I get more wishes?”

“Two more, of course.”

“And what do I rub to get them?” Starsky’s voice was low and menacing and he stared at the Genie.

“Me!”

Starsky missed a beat; in fact, he missed two beats. “I rub you. Ok; what part of you do I rub?”

“My head.”

That was a relief–the way things were going Starsky had expected worse. Starsky grabbed the front of the Genie’s vest and dragged him back down into The Pits. He climbed up on the bar, taking care not to tread on his friend, and told the big guy to stand in front of him. He rubbed the Genie’s head and made wish number two.

“Wow, thanks my man.” Huggy was standing next of him on the counter; he jumped down and went to the bottles behind the bar and poured himself a good slug of scotch.

Starsky was being very careful about what he was thinking–he didn’t want to blow his last wish by mistake.

“Come here.” He beckoned the Genie back within reach. “Suppose I wish that you went home–would that work?”

The Genie looked sad. “I want to go home in the pretty car.”

“No chance. Now can I wish you home or can’t I?”

The Genie nodded.

“Does that mean ‘yes’ I can?”

The big head nodded again.

Starsky reached out and rubbed the Genie’s head. “I wish you’d go home!”

The Genie disappeared.

Starsky and Huggy looked at one another and grinned. “I won’t tell Hutch if you won’t.” Starsky said.

He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. “I’m going home to get some rest, Huggy. Hutch comes back tomorrow, and I’ll bring him by after I’ve picked him up at the airport.”

The next morning Starsky was at LAX to greet Hutch. They walked out to where the Torino was waiting. Hutch was relieved to see that the Mars light was no longer attached to the grill. He threw his bag onto the back seat and retrieved something.

As Starsky started the car, Hutch held out a purple turban. “Looks like you went to a fancy dress party for New Years huh?”

“Yeah.”