A dark secret from Hutch’s past comes back to haunt him, forcing him to leave Starsky and his job. Starsky is left in turmoil, wondering where things went wrong and how he can fix them before Hutch walks out of his life forever.
Originally published in Venice Place Chronicles V in 2005.
A lazy sigh of contentment broke the silence of the sun-drenched bedroom. Starsky rolled to his side and flopped an arm in the direction his lover had occupied in the bed next to him the night before. A rumple of sheets greeted his outstretched hand, not the warm body he was expecting. Starsky peeked from behind a half-closed eye at the bedside alarm clock. 6:15 a.m. With a grumble, he pulled the cover over his eyes and turned away from the empty space. Hutch was gone on his usual morning jog and wouldn’t return for another forty-five minutes. The feel of the cool percale sheets against his nude body, and the sticky remnants of their passionate lovemaking dotted among the dark curls on his stomach were a gentle reminder of the previous evening, nudging a wistful smile from the weary man. It had been two months since their friendship had blossomed into the intimacy for which he had secretly yearned for years, but he still often gave himself a mental pinch for assuredness that he wasn’t dreaming. The image of his cock buried deep within the warm tightness of Hutch’s body seeped into the corners of his mind, pulling him from the edge of sleep and reawakening the hunger that had consumed him just hours before. “Hurry up and get back here, Hutch,” he mumbled, shifting restlessly among the covers as he attempted to quell the desire rapidly building within him.
~*~*~
Glancing at his watch as he sprinted in graceful strides toward his apartment, Hutch grimaced in dissatisfaction with his progress and quickened his pace, determined to best his time from yesterday. Sweat trickled from the blond strands of hair near his temples as he pushed his body to its limit the last block before home. Reaching Venice Place, he stopped abruptly in front of the building and checked his watch again, replacing the grimace with a curt smile of accomplishment before bounding up the steps to his apartment.
He grabbed a quick glass of orange juice from the refrigerator, then paused at the entryway of his bedroom, taking pleasure in the beautiful sight displayed before him, far better than the cool drink quenching his thirst.
Starsky was lying on his bed, the sheet pulled haphazardly across his reclining body and around his face, leaving only a few unkempt curls protruding. The pale blue cover was a stark contrast to the tufts of dark hair and rugged features it framed, its thin material allowing a teasing glimpse of the muscular, well-endowed body hidden underneath.
Setting the empty glass on the table, Hutch tiptoed across the room and leaned over his lover, intending to steal a light kiss without disturbing Starsky’s slumber. As he pressed his lips against the familiar fullness, the scent of shampoo and Dial soap tickled his nose. Only then did he notice that the curls peeking from beneath the sheets were still damp, Starsky’s face freshly shaven. Before he had time to react, Starsky sprang from the covers, attacking him with the agility of a cheetah downing its prey, leaving the stunned man flat on his back amid an assault of kisses, tender nips, and roving hands.
“What took you so long, huh?” Starsky queried anxiously, as his tongue trailed the length of the long neck at his mercy. His hand pulled at the zipper of Hutch’s nylon jogging jacket, exposing the smooth, sweat-dampened chest beneath. “Thought I was gonna have to finish things myself.”
The bulge pressing against Hutch’s thigh left no doubt as to what Starsky was referring to. Caught off guard by the ambush, he chuckled and turned his head to the side, inadvertently allowing further access to the sensitive skin along the side of his neck. “Hey, Starsky, wait a minute, okay?” he pleaded while stifling another giggle. “At least let me get in the shower. I’m all sweaty.”
Starsky paid little heed to his partner’s request, instead focusing on the copper-colored nipple now exposed from beneath the jacket. He taunted the tender nub with his teeth and tongue, coaxing it to a taut peak before answering. “Shower? What for? When I’m done with you, you’re just gonna be all hot and sweaty again.” He turned his attention to the other nipple, giving it a quick bite. “Besides, I can’t wait that long. Think I’m gonna explode if I don’t fuck you right now.”
Hutch needed no further prodding, his expression turning from laughter to zeal, as his cock rose like a white flag of surrender in response to the persuasive caresses. His fingers entangled Starsky’s hair, pulling the hungry mouth against his own. A pleasing mixture of toothpaste, orange juice, and Starsky rolled across his tongue, tempting his taste buds with a five-star delight. He felt his clothes being pulled from his body, the jogging pants once clinging to his long legs now residing in a heap on the floor along with his jacket and shoes.
Hovering above his fully erect cock, Starsky’s ravenous eyes studied him intently, like a predator stalking its kill. Hutch watched as his lover’s lips thinned in a wry smile before slightly parting and moving closer to the tip of his erection. A sharp buck of his hips toward the waiting mouth suggested his need was just as urgent as Starsky’s.
Starsky opened his mouth wide to accommodate the full girth of Hutch’s cock.
Hutch waited for heaven to envelop him.
Ring…ring…ring…ring….
The obtrusive ring of the telephone reverberated within the room. The men looked at each other, silently cursing the intrusion, asking the same question without words.
“Hutch, if you answer that phone…” Starsky warned.
“I have to. Who would be calling this early if it wasn’t important?” Hutch reasoned, as he attempted to roll toward the phone.
“Wrong number, maybe?” Starsky countered, refusing to surrender his position above his partner.
“I’ve got to answer it to find out, Starsk.” Hutch nudged his partner in an attempt to reach the phone and finally was able to grab the receiver. “Yeah, what is it?” he growled. There was silence while he listened to the conversation on the other end. “That’s not far from here.” Another pause. “Starsky? Yeah, uh, he’s here. It was a little late after the game last night, so he just crashed here.” Hutch shrugged at his lack of a better excuse, the current position of his partner-in-question producing a brief smile. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Both men’s cocks deflated simultaneously as Hutch hung up the phone with a heavy sigh.
With an agitated roll of his eyes, Starsky reluctantly moved from his position on top of Hutch, allowing his friend to move to the side of the bed. “Be where in twenty minutes?” he asked irritably. “It’s our day off.”
“Not anymore,” Hutch replied, as he planted a quick kiss on Starsky’s lips. “There’s a triple homicide on Alameda, not three blocks from here. Dobey wants us on it.”
“But I thought we were gonna-” Starsky began, his face twisting in a deep frown.
Hutch kissed the pouting lips again. “Hold that thought, babe. Dobey can’t expect us to work all day.” He padded toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, then we’ll go.”
“Yeah, well save some of the cold water for me,” Starsky mumbled to himself as he flopped on his back, clutching a pillow against his nakedness. “I think I’m gonna need it.”
~*~*~
The crime scene was not a pretty one. A soured drug deal had left three young men lying amid a scattering of spent shell casings and pools of blood. There was little to go on: a dark sedan; one, maybe two suspects; no witnesses. A flurry of activity surrounded the homicides with tenacious police and crime scene investigators leaving no leaf or rock unturned. A large crowd had gathered behind a row of yellow tape that cordoned off the area, their morbid curiosity keeping them fixated on the gruesome scene.
Starsky closed his notebook with a disgruntled sigh while scouring the crime scene, searching for anything that may have been overlooked. “Looks like we’re getting nowhere fast,” he observed, casting a doubtful look toward his partner.
Hutch knelt beside one of the victims and peered under the blood-soaked sheet covering the body. Grimacing at the mangled corpse, he let the cover fall back in place and stood up in disgust. “Yeah, whoever did this wanted to make sure the victims weren’t going to live to talk about it.”
After another hour of interviewing tight-lipped onlookers and surveying the evidence without any solid leads, the detectives allowed the bodies to be loaded into the coroner’s wagon. There was little more that could be done at this point, leaving them no other recourse than to return to Metro and hope for a break later on from one of their snitches, or a witness too reluctant to come forward at that time. As they walked back toward the Torino, a man in the crowd caught Hutch’s eye. He seemed more interested in him than the chaos that ensued around the homicides. The man stood just over six feet tall, with unkempt black hair streaked with silver. The suit he wore was outdated and wrinkled, but would have been considered the height of fashion years ago. His face looked haggard, though the faint features of a once-handsome man were still visible. He smiled smugly from his stance behind the yellow tape near the Torino as Hutch approached.
“Hello, Kenneth,” the man greeted in a calm, even voice.
As Starsky slid into the driver’s seat, Hutch paused and looked closer at the man speaking to him, his brow furrowing in bewilderment.
“Do I know you?” Hutch asked warily. Uneasiness nagged at him as he stared into the man’s lackluster blue eyes.
The man smiled, not saying a word, eyes ablaze with anger before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. Hutch was tempted to follow him, but Starsky’s voice thwarted his intent.
“Hutch, ya comin’?” Starsky called through the side window, hand tapping restlessly on the steering wheel.
Hutch climbed into the passenger seat, still baffled by the confrontation. “Did you see that guy who was talking to me?” He gestured a thumb in the direction where the man had disappeared.
“No, I didn’t get a look at him. Who was he?” Starsky replied with an inquisitive arch of his eyebrows.
“I-I don’t know,” Hutch admitted, his gaze still scouring the crowd where the man had disappeared. “He looked familiar, but I can’t place his face. He made me really uncomfortable, though.”
Starsky stretched an arm across the back of the seat, giving Hutch’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Why, what did he say?”
“He said, ‘Hello, Kenneth’,” Hutch replied simply, the image of the mystery man still whirling in his mind.
Releasing his grip on Hutch’s shoulder, Starsky snickered with relief as he drove away from the crime scene. “Well, there’re worse things that he coulda said to ya.”
Hutch didn’t see the amusement in the situation and scowled at his friend. “It’s not what he said, it’s how he said it, and when I asked if I knew him, he just walked away. He didn’t seem too pleased that I didn’t recognize him.”
“Probably just someone you met on a case,” Starsky surmised with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders.
“Maybe.” Hutch stared out the window in deep thought. “Or maybe not,” he added under his breath.
Stroking his hand across the soft ribs of corduroy covering Hutch’s thigh, Starsky assured, “Just forget about it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Hutch gave a reluctant nod of agreement and covered the comforting hand with his own, his long fingers entrapping his friends’ in an appreciative embrace. “I guess,” he replied with uncertainty. “It’s still gonna bug me until I remember who he is.”
“Well, maybe after we finish our paperwork, I can help take your mind off of it for a while,” Starsky proposed, a wriggle of his eyebrows clarifying his intentions.
Hutch clenched Starsky’s hand tighter and flashed him a pearly grin. “That could take a while.”
Glancing in his side mirror as he changed lanes, the corners of Starsky’s mouth curled upward with an air of confidence. “Oh, I think I can handle it, loverboy.”
~*~*~
Starsky stared across his desk at his partner. Hutch had been inattentively studying the same file for several minutes without turning a page. “Hutch?”
There was no reply, only the incessant sound of Hutch’s pencil tapping against the desktop.
“Hutch!” Starsky repeated sharply, his voice louder this time.
Hutch abruptly looked up from his paperwork and tossed the pencil aside. “Yeah, what is it?” he snapped.
With a wave of his pencil, Starsky motioned toward the pile of papers in front of his partner. “You’ve been starin’ at the same page for fifteen minutes. I wanna get out of here sometime today. What gives?”
Hutch rubbed a hand across his eyes and briefly looked down, then back at his friend, emitting a weary sigh. “I’m sorry, Starsk. I just can’t get that man’s face out of my mind. I know him from somewhere. I just can’t place it.”
Smiling compassionately, Starsky folded the file in front of him, tapping it on the edge of the desk before casting it in a pile with the other cases.
“Look, Dobey’s gonna be in meetings the rest of the day, and we’re scheduled for the early shift tomorrow. Nothin’s stoppin’ us from finishing this work up in the morning. It’s our day off, after all.” He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice out of earshot of the other men in the squadroom.
“I say we get outta here, grab a few sandwiches from that deli down on the corner. You know, those little ones with the crusts cut off that you like so much? Maybe a bottle of wine? We’ll head up to that secluded area off Vista Canyon Road, have lunch, then take a walk down by the lake afterward. A little sunshine and fresh air might help jog your memory.”
Hutch’s forlorn grimace brightened at the loving proposition. “Starsk, I know you hate those sandwiches, and wine is not your first beverage of choice, not to mention you’re not too fond of the outdoors.”
Leaning forward on his elbows, he looked quickly over each shoulder. “I say we forget the sandwiches and wine, grab a six-pack and a pepperoni pizza, and head up there,” he whispered in a seductive tone. “After lunch, I’ll fuck that beautiful ass of yours until you’re baying like a wolf at a full moon.”
Swallowing hard, Starsky’s mouth dropped open, the pencil he held snapping between his fingers as the sudden tightness in his jeans raised his voice an octave. “Uh…okay…that works for me,” he welcomed rapaciously.
The amorous initiative his lover would sometimes take was an antic that could not only turn him into putty in those very capable hands within a matter of seconds, but it also offered reassurance that Hutch was as comfortable with their intimacy as he was. Starsky had been the first to step across the boundaries of their friendship, divulging his true feelings with a tender kiss during a vulnerable moment after a crazed gunman nearly took Hutch from him forever. Even though Hutch had confessed that he harbored the same feelings for him and eagerly reciprocated the kiss, Starsky still had an unfounded, yet very real fear that he had pushed his friend past the point of no return, and he worried that Hutch would, at some point, regret that decision.
“Hey, hey, hey, what are you two lovebirds up to?” A uniformed police officer approached Starsky from behind, gripping his shoulders while leaning obtrusively between the two detectives. “Plotting your next romantic getaway?” he sneered sarcastically.
Starsky’s jaw tightened at the uncanny reality of his oppressor’s words, but didn’t flinch. “What d’ya want, Tuley?” he snapped, brushing the cop’s hands from his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be out helpin’ little old ladies across the sidewalk or somethin’?”
Steve Tuley was the Department’s pot-stirrer, always looking to rile someone. Lately, his attentions had been focused on them, never passing up an opportunity to make insinuations about their close relationship, even though Starsky and Hutch had always been careful to keep their intimacy under wraps. Only Huggy was privileged to the fact they were more than just friends. The majority of their co-workers admired and respected the closeness between them, but Tuley’s ongoing squabbles with his own partner flourished into jealousy for what Starsky and Hutch shared professionally, and he made every attempt to tarnish that.
“Yeah, sure, Starsky,” Tuley retorted with a sneer. “Why don’t you put on a dress for your boyfriend there, and maybe I’ll help you across the street, unless of course, you think Hutchinson might get jealous.”
With his forehead perched resignedly on his fingertips, Hutch’s face contorted into a disgusted grimace, accompanied by a quick roll of his eyes.
Starsky’s nostrils flared, his eyes teeming with anger. He propelled himself backward, driving the back of his chair into Tuley’s thighs, initiating a shriek from the man that reverberated throughout the squadroom, garnering the attention of everyone around them. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed the aggrieved man by his tie with one hand, while the other hand hovered menacingly in a tight fist near the man’s bulbous eyes.
“Look, Tuley!” he seethed. “You got a problem with my partnership with Hutch?” He shook the flabbergasted cop, demanding a response. “Huh?”
Hutch responded immediately, darting around the desk and grabbing his partner’s wrist, pulling Starsky’s fist from the man’s reddened face. “Easy, Starsk. He’s not worth it.”
His face still grimaced in pain, Tuley managed a smirk. “Look, your Prince Charming has come to the rescue, Starsky.”
Looping Tuley’s tie around his hand, Starsky steadied the man’s head, ready to deliver a steadfast punch, but a gentle pat to his stomach diverted his intentions, the touch working its usual magic.
“Let him go. C’mon.” Hutch offered another loving pat, his fingers catching a few coarse hairs peeking between the buttons on Starsky’s shirt.
Releasing Tuley from his chokehold, Starsky turned an appreciative gaze toward his partner, silently conveying a thank-you, gratefully accepting the “you’re welcome” smiled back at him.
Hutch took aim at Tuley’s face with an intimidating shake of his index finger. “You’re an asshole, Tuley.” He nudged Starsky with the back of his hand. “Let’s get outta here, Starsk. Suddenly, I feel the need for some fresh air.”
Starsky obligingly followed his partner from the squadroom, leaving Tuley to adjust his crumpled tie and bruised ego amid a few hushed snickers from his cohorts.
~*~*~
“Hey, you okay?” Hutch asked with concern as they approached the Torino in the parking garage.
The brisk pace of Starsky’s stride was a telltale sign he was still upset. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He jerked open the door of the Torino, climbed in, and slammed it succinctly behind him.
Hutch took a seat on the passenger side, shifting his body to face Starsky. “You’re not gonna let that jerk get to you, are ya?”
“No. No, I’m not gonna let him get to me,” Starsky mocked in a jeering tone, unintentionally directing his frustration at his friend. He took a deep breath before he continued. “But don’t you ever get tired of all the comments, Hutch?” he asked, delving for Hutch’s true mind-set on the continuing implications from their co-workers on the depth of their relationship. Hutch rarely responded openly to the comments, or discussed his feelings on the matter, leaving Starsky to wonder how deeply they affected him, hoping his lover harbored no regrets about their intimacy. He never seemed to fully satisfy that reassurance he craved, Hutch adeptly capable of keeping those emotions in check, heightening his insecurities.
“You don’t know how much,” Hutch replied dolefully, a despondent sigh escaping him as he traced his finger around the Gran Torino emblem on the door panel.
It was the first time Hutch had let his defenses down regarding their intimacy, allowing Starsky a brief glimpse at an anguish he couldn’t readily define. Was it compunction he detected in Hutch’s voice? He felt a heavy lump rise in the back of his throat at the thought that Hutch may be having second thoughts about the direction their relationship had taken, leaving him to swallow hard in order to reply.
“Just how much?” he asked hesitantly, fearful of the answer, but the trickle of emotion he had observed from his friend was capped as quickly as it had flowed, leaving him once more with unanswered questions.
“Let’s not talk about that right now,” Hutch replied with a shake of his head. He slapped Starsky on the thigh and motioned toward the parking garage exit. “C’mon, we still on for that pizza and walk by the lake?”
Starsky ran his hand across the top of the steering wheel, accompanying it by a downhearted shrug of his shoulders, his quest to dispel that nagging doubt once again unsuccessful. “Oh, I don’t know, Hutch. I kinda lost my appetite. I think I’ll just head on home.”
“Okay, if that’s what you want.” Hutch gave a simple shrug of his shoulders as he stared out the passenger window, studiously eyeing the florescent lighting secured from the ceiling. He leaned his head back and emitted a low growl from his throat, before it transformed into a full howl, reminiscent of a wolf baying at a full moon in a midnight sky.
Starsky straightened against the leather seat as his cock tingled within the confines of his jeans. “Well, maybe I am a little hungry,” he admitted, hastily starting the car’s engine.
“Thought you might be,” Hutch responded brazenly, snapping a quick bark in Starsky’s direction.
The perfectly tuned roar of the Torino’s engine echoed against the concrete walls of the garage as Starsky shifted into gear and departed from Metro.
~*~*~
Spreading a blanket near a cluster of tall pines, Starsky knelt on the woolen material and peeked into the corner of the pizza box, savoring the aroma of pepperoni and double cheese wafting through the opening.
“Mmmm…nothing beats a pizza from Mancini’s,” Starsky concluded assuredly, taking another deep whiff of the tantalizing smell tempting his taste buds.
“Are you sure about that?” Hutch answered with a cunning grin, settling beside Starsky, pushing the pizza box aside and easing his lover onto his back. Brushing his lips across the light shadow of stubble around Starsky’s mouth, he caressed the skin with featherlight kisses, before turning his attentions to that tantalizing lower lip, sucking it to a deep rosy hue, his teeth tugging slightly at it with a teasing bite. “Nothing at all?” he offered in a husky voice.
Propping an arm behind his head, Starsky paused to appreciate the sight before him¾one more beautiful than anything Mother Nature had to offer in her surroundings. The afternoon sun kissed Hutch’s face with a light sheen of sweat that glistened like gold against his fair skin “Well…maybe something,” he admitted with a slight shift of his hips, the tightness in his jeans confirming his confession.
Hutch abruptly leaned up, pulled a piece of pizza from the box, and bit into the steaming slice. “That’s nice to know,” he stated casually around a mouthful of pepperoni and melted cheese. “Good pizza.” He waved the slice in Starsky’s direction. “You really should have some while it’s hot.”
Eyes widening in disgruntled incredulity, Starsky wadded up a napkin and tossed it in Hutch’s direction. “Hutch! You kiss me like that and expect my mind to be on food? You know I’m a sucker for a good pizza, but what I’m craving right now has nothing to do with pepperoni.”
Chuckling under his breath, Hutch placed the pizza back in the box and wiped his mouth on the napkin cast in his direction. “Well, now, just what are you craving?” he asked suggestively, hovering over Starsky’s hips.
His need overshadowing the desire to continue their game, Starsky slipped his hands around the nape of Hutch’s neck and pulled his lover on top of him. “I’ll show you what I’m craving.” He pressed the velvet smooth lips to his own, his tongue slipping inside the willing mouth, tasting the pepperoni and oregano mingled with that unique taste of Hutch. Their tongues slipped across one another’s in a heated battled for dominance, the need for oxygen finally severing the emblazoned kiss.
“So, that’s what you’re craving,” Hutch empathized with a wry grin.
Starsky reached up and grabbed at the noticeable bulge in the front of Hutch’s jeans. “Oh, and you’re not?” he posed, fingers caressing the straining cock through the thick fabric.
“Mmmm…” Hutch purred. “Looks like we’re both hungry, huh? Well, let me show you just how hungry I am.”
Starsky moaned his approval as Hutch slowly unbuttoned his shirt, the teasing tongue blazing a path up his fur-covered stomach and chest as his shirt fell away, before his lover took a slight detour to a sensitive nipple as it was exposed from under the woven fabric covering his chest. Hutch sucked the tender delicacy to a taut peak before turning his attentions to the other one, bestowing the same illustrious fate on it. Starsky’s hands haphazardly ruffled fine strands of blond as he fought to control the raging desire building within him, a zealous bid to keep from exploding before he even had his jeans unzipped. “Oh, God, Hutch, you’re gonna have to slow down,” he urged, voice full of impassioned desperation.
“Slow down?” Hutch responded incredulously as he moved aside and hastily unzipped his pants, allowing the girth of his cock to spring forth. “I was just about to tell you to hurry up and peel those jeans off that beautiful ass of yours. I can’t wait another minute to fuck you.”
Starsky swallowed hard, kicking off his Adidas, tugging at the zipper of his jeans, and shimmying the shirt from his shoulders, all in one swift move. “Well, since you put it that way.”
In a matter of seconds, a heap of clothing was tossed aside, their two naked bodies entangled in a muddle of roving hands, grinding hips, and fervent kisses.
“Now, Hutch,” Starsky urged impatiently, pulling back from the devouring mouth. “Fuck me now, or I’m gonna lose my mind.”
A low growl rumbled from Hutch’s throat as he grabbed a tube of lubricant, tucked in the pocket of his discarded pants, and squeezed a generous amount into his hand. His eyes were clouded with desire, his only response a quick circle of his hand in the air, motioning Starsky to turn over.
Starsky eagerly obliged, rolling onto his stomach, offering himself like a gift to the gods, his blond god. Hutch coated him inside and out with a gentle finger, the coolness of the gel a stark contrast to the raging fire burning within him. A fluttering ache of anticipation snaked down his spine, settling in his rock-hard cock as he waited for that familiar firmness he endlessly craved. He felt Hutch ease into him, inch by pleasurable inch, the moan of his lover’s pleasured response as he tightened around the satisfying warmth matching his own reaction. His back arched as Hutch’s long hand wrapped around his straining cock, trapping him within those capable fingers, pumping and stroking him as their bodies moved in an even rhythm. Hutch pushed deeper, burying the fullness of those peach-colored balls in the crack of his ass, the engorged shaft bumping that sensitive nub that skyrocketed him into a mind-blowing stupor.
The world around him mellowed into a kaleidoscope of heated white sparkles and muffled moans of pleasure as Hutch fondled the heavy sack at the base of his cock, gently squeezing them in a tender vise that nearly sent him over the edge. The ecstasy engulfed him, numbing his senses with passion. Lost in the euphoric assault, he grappled at the blanket under his hands and knees, attempting to hold onto his place on earth, the indescribable sensation threatening to send him to places he had never traveled before. With a sledgehammer thrust, Hutch slammed into him as they neared the pinnacle of their journey. Starsky pushed back against that irresistible hardness in response, releasing the blanket from his grip, no longer caring where he ended up, no longer caring if he ever came back, as long as Hutch was with him. Bucking wildly against him, Hutch’s long fingers returned their attention to his rigid shaft. He grew harder with each frenzied stroke, the thick veins running the length of his engorged cock straining against the tantalizing fingers working their magic. With one final plunge, Hutch stiffened against him, the treasured body so thoroughly filling him, there was room for nothing more. Hutch’s hand remained tightly clasped around the girth of his cock, pumping wildly.
“Fly with me, Starsk,” Hutch cried out. “Fly with me to the end of the earth.”
With one final stroke, Starsky exploded at the hands of his golden god with the furor of an erupting volcano. His arms trembled under the weight of his lover as Hutch collapsed like a rag doll across his back. His owned strength sapped, he gently nudged Hutch to life. “You okay?” he queried weakly.
“Hmmm? Oh, sorry,” Hutch replied groggily, pressing a kiss to Starsky’s shoulder as he leaned up.
“Thanks.” Starsky straightened, sleepy eyes smiling a lazy “I love you” at the soft blue barely visible through Hutch’s heavy eyelids.
Collapsing in a contented heap on the blanket, both men were too exhausted to say any more, Starsky’s left hand cupped over Hutch’s right the only words needed. They fell into a satiated slumber, never once hearing the soft whir of a camera shutter or the retreating steps of the silver-haired stranger in the distance.
~*~*~
From behind a cluster of clouds hanging close to the horizon, a few rays of sunshine struggled to retain their hold on the waning day as the Torino pulled alongside the curb at Venice Place, depositing one weary but contented man at its doorstep.
“See ya in the mornin’,” Starsky called to his friend with a wave of his hand.
“Seven a.m. Don’t be late,” Hutch reminded, before he turned and disappeared behind the door of his apartment building.
Tossing his keys on the table, Hutch headed for the shower, eager to soak under the invigorating spray. The hot water was relaxing and eased the soreness from his strained muscles, but the image of the stranger still nagged at him, the gaunt features and chilling smile refusing to leave him in peace.
“Where do I know him from?” Hutch asked himself aloud as he braced his hands against the wall of the shower, his head lolling forward, allowing the water to pulsate against his neck and back. Suddenly, it came to him from the recesses of his mind, stowed there years ago, hoping to never reappear. The elusive face now had a name, one he hoped he would never speak again.
Turning off the water, Hutch quickly exited the shower and grabbed a towel, wrapping it haphazardly around his waist. He stared into the mirror in disbelief, the hand running the width of his jaw tightened with both anger and fear. “No, it couldn’t be,” he mumbled to himself. “Why? Why now? After all these years?” he asked the mirror, staring at it as if he expected a response from the face that gaped back at him.
The ringing of the phone pulled him from his stupor. Leaving a trail of water behind him, Hutch hurried to the end table and grabbed the receiver. “Yeah?” His voice held a tone of edginess.
The caller abruptly hung up. Hutch pensively returned the receiver to its cradle, trying not to let the incident unnerve him. “Just a wrong number, Hutchinson. Get a grip on yourself,” he uttered under his breath as he plodded toward the bedroom.
The phone rang again. Hutch darted for it and hastily picked it up. “What do you want?” he demanded angrily.
“Hey, take it easy, babe,” Starsky soothed on the other end. “You okay? I just got home and had to call and say again what a great time I had today.”
“Oh, Starsk, it’s you.” Hutch breathed a sigh of relief and plopped on the couch. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just had someone call and hang up. I thought it was him again.”
“Him? You say that like you know who it was.”
“Well, I really don’t know who it was.” Hutch attempted to downplay his fears. “I’m sure it was just a wrong number,” he added hastily.
“You don’t sound so sure,” Starsky countered, an uneasy tone to his voice.
“I’m sure. I’m just tired, that’s all, and a little edgy,” Hutch replied, trying to convince himself with his own words.
“You still tryin’ to remember who that man is?”
Hutch paused as his heart caught in his throat. “Not anymore. I remembered who he is,” he answered despondently.
A chuckle sounded from the other end of the receiver. “Oh, good, so the fresh air and sex did you some good.”
The silence on Hutch’s end proved he found little humor in the matter.
“Hutch, you there?” Starsky’s voice grew serious once again. “Hey, what’s wrong? Who was this guy?”
“Look, I really don’t want to talk about it over the phone, okay?” Hutch’s gaze pivoted to the ceiling as he heaved an exasperated sigh.
“No, it’s not okay,” Starsky said. “Something’s wrong. I can tell. I’m coming over there right now.”
“Starsk, no, really. I’m okay.” Hutch pressed the heel of his palm to his temple, trying to ward off an impending headache. “I’m exhausted, and I just wanna go to bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
The concern Hutch detected in his friend’s voice initiated an appreciative, though unseen, smile. “Yeah, I’m sure. Look, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay? I’m beat.”
“Okay,” Starsky agreed reluctantly after a slight pause. “But if you need me, you know where I am.”
“That I do, partner. G’night.” Hutch started to hang up the phone but quickly brought it back to his ear, his grip tightening on the receiver. “Oh, and, Starsk?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, Hutch.”
The words were a welcome reassurance to Hutch. His back straightened with confidence as he hung up the phone, feeling less vulnerable to the ghost from his past. He trudged to his bedroom and threw the towel aside, slipped into a pair of boxer shorts, and crawled into bed. Pulling the covers tightly up to his neck, his self-assurance soon faltered as he found his mind drifting back to his childhood, his thoughts retreating to a place he hoped he would never return to again. He closed his eyes in concentration, attempting to force the horrifying images from his mind, but the clamoring of a school bell reverberated through his haze of memories, pulling him back to that time in Duluth at Morgan Park Middle School¾a time he had tried so hard to forget¾forcing him to relive it once again.
~*~*~
Spring 1955
Anxious students snapped their books shut, stuffing them into their desks in anticipation of dismissal from class. With less than a week left before summer break, the children were growing increasingly eager for the school days to pass.
A tall distinguished-looking man stood at the head of the classroom, peering over the rim of his bifocal glasses at the fidgeting boys and girls. “I expect all of you to have Chapter Twenty-one read by tomorrow, with the summary questions completed. Class dismissed.”
He strolled to his desk and sat down while the flurry of children hurried by him, until a gangly blond-haired boy, encumbered by a load of books and folders held tightly against a crisp oxford shirt, passed in front of him. “Oh, Kenneth?” he called out.
Stopping in front of the desk, the young boy appeared startled, his cornflower blue eyes peering timorously from behind golden lashes at the man calling his name. “Y-yes, Mr. Kendall?” the boy replied nervously, his gaze immediately dropping to the shiny leather loafers he wore.
Hands neatly folded in front of him, Mr. Kendall smiled warmly at the youth as the last of the students left the room, leaving the two of them alone. “I’d like for you to stay after school and help me organize the books for the used book sale.”
His eyes still transfixed downward, the boy’s knuckles turned white as his grip tightened on the books pressed to his chest. “I-I need to get home and study for finals,” he stammered softly.
Standing up, the man moved from behind his desk and draped an arm across Kenneth’s narrow shoulders, steering him toward the small storage area at the back of the classroom, where he guided the youth inside and closed the door. “It can wait. This won’t take long,” he assured, gently tugging the boy to his side as he pulled the chain hanging from the bare light bulb, illuminating the small room. “Besides, if the grades on your finals prove unacceptable, I’m sure we can work out some sort of extra credit, don’t you think?” he asked suggestively.
Kenneth backed away, retreating against a stack of books in the corner, the fear reflected in his eyes clearly visible even within the dimly lit confines of the room. “P-please, Mr. Kendall, I don’t want to d-do this anymore.” He clutched the schoolbooks to his chest like a makeshift shield, a futile attempt to protect himself.
Mr. Kendall moved closer, effortlessly pulling the books from Kenneth’s grasp and tossing them aside. His hand reached to stroke a fair-skinned cheek. “Now, Kenneth, there’s nothing to be scared of. Have I ever hurt you before?” His voice was soothing, the touch gentle and coaxing.
Kenneth flinched when the man touched him. “Yes, y-you have,” he replied truthfully, his voice nearly inaudible.
Mr. Kendall grasped Kenneth’s chin firmly within his palm and turned the boy’s face to meet his discerning gaze. “I know how badly you want an A on your final essay, Kenneth. I was going to send it home with you today. I don’t think your father would be too pleased if you brought home a failing grade, now, would he?”
Tears welled in Kenneth’s eyes at the mention of his father’s name. Even an A wouldn’t be good enough to appease the high expectations placed upon him by Richard Hutchinson. Only an A+ would do. The mere thought of failing left the boy shaking with fear.
“Well, would he?” Mr. Kendall reiterated with an air of confidence.
Kenneth’s head lolled forward in defeat, sending a tear spilling over his cheekbone. “No, sir.”
With a victorious smile, Mr. Kendall patted Kenneth on the shoulder. “That’s much better.” He gingerly pushed a strand of blond hair away from Kenneth’s forehead. “I think I’d like to try something different today. Something I think you’ll like.”
Kenneth’s head darted up, the uncertainty of the implication striking a chord of fear that left the boy visibly trembling.
“It’s okay. I promise.” The man placed both hands upon Kenneth’s shoulders and gently pushed downward. “Kneel down for me.”
“No, I don’t want to.” Kenneth resisted and stepped aside in the only direction that allowed movement away from his tormentor.
“Kenneth…” Mr. Kendall’s voice was stern and unwavering, his eyes darting a warning glare at the frightened boy. “I said kneel down for me.”
Kenneth bit his lip and reluctantly dropped to his knees, his head turned downward, away from the man now looming over him. He clenched his eyes tightly shut as he heard the sound of a zipper being unzipped near him.
“Open your eyes, Kenneth,” the man’s voice urged. “I want you to take me in your mouth.”
“No.” Kenneth shook his head repeatedly, his fists clenched in defiance as he pounded them against his thighs. “No!”
Mr. Kendall brusquely grabbed Kenneth by the hair, forcing the boy’s mouth toward his fully erect cock. “I said do it!” he demanded impatiently.
“No, I won’t!” Kenneth shrieked, tears streaming down his face as he fought to pull free from the fingers entangled in his hair. “I won’t do this anymore! Let me go!” He twisted and turned until he broke away, leaving Mr. Kendall with several clumps of hair still clutched within his grip. Tearing at the doorknob, Kenneth ran from the room, while the stunned teacher scurried to stuff his deflating cock back into his pants.
Before Kenneth could escape from the classroom, Mr. Kendall grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from the doorway. “Not a word about this, boy,” he warned, waving a finger in front of Kenneth’s pallid face. “This is our secret, remember? I can make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?”
Kenneth shrunk back in fear at the threatening words. Drying his tearstained cheeks on the sleeve of his shirt, he reluctantly nodded his head.
“Good, now get your books and get out of here.” Mr. Kendall pointed in the direction of the room they had just been in.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being led into another unwanted predicament, Kenneth hurried into the small room, gathered his books, and dashed out again. Mr. Kendall was sitting at his desk when he emerged, engrossed in grading papers. Kenneth rushed by him, never looking in his direction.
“Oh, Kenneth,” Mr. Kendall called from behind him.
Kenneth cringed as he heard his name again. He turned around to see Mr. Kendall’s hand extended toward him, offering a paper.
“Here’s your essay paper back, just like I promised.” A smug smile was plastered across the man’s face.
Kenneth took the paper and gaped at the large F boldly marked across the top margin. He looked at Mr. Kendall in silent disbelief, unable to find the words to respond.
“Have a nice afternoon, Kenneth.” With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Mr. Kendall returned to his work.
Completely defeated, Kenneth slowly shuffled from the room, while continuing to stare at the paper. A new fear gripped him. He had to go home now. His father had no tolerance for failure. There was no room for error. How could he possibly explain the reason for bringing home no less than a perfect paper?
“You’re late leaving, Kenneth,” a graying man pronounced from a nearby doorway, interrupting the boy’s thoughts.
“Yes, sir, Principal Anderson,” Kenneth replied respectfully, while offering no explanation.
“Everything okay?” the principal inquired.
“Yes, sir. Everything is fine,” Kenneth lied in a soft-spoken tone as he sauntered down the hallway. He reached up to smooth the tufts of hair tousled by the encounter with Mr. Kendall, flinching as he touched a tender spot. Anger suddenly seized him, and he whirled around to face the principal. He glanced down the hall toward Mr. Kendall’s room, then at the paper he held, then back to the principal. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his shoulders back and corrected in a clear, confident voice, “No, everything’s not fine, Principal Anderson. Could I talk to you?”
“Well, certainly, Kenneth. Come into my office.”
Kenneth followed the man into his office, disappearing behind the closed door.
~*~*~
“Kenneth Richard Hutchinson!” the elder Hutchinson boomed as he stormed into Kenneth’s bedroom, cobalt blue eyes ablaze with anger.
Kenneth was sitting on his bed, attending to his studies when the door flew open, the force of the entrance causing it to slam against the wall, making a noticeable indentation in the paneling. Having experienced the wrath of his father’s fury on more than one occasion, he fearfully retreated to the far corner of the spacious room and crouched in the corner, watching helplessly as the distance between himself and the enraged man rapidly closed. “W-what’s wrong, Father?”
“What’s wrong?” Richard Hutchinson repeated harshly, throwing his hands up in utter disbelief. “How can you ask that?”
Kenneth pulled his knees protectively to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around his shins. “D-didn’t you talk to Principal Anderson?”
“Oh, yes, I talked to him to him, all right,” Richard assured sharply with a curt nod. “He called me in from a very important meeting about a problem you had with Mr. Kendall.”
Kenneth briefly rested his forehead on his knees and emitted a deep sigh, his guarded stance relaxing. A look of relief passed through his sallow blue eyes as his gaze returned to his father. “So, you know what happened.”
“Yes, I know what happened.” Richard Hutchinson reached into the breast pocket of his designer suit and produced a paper. He tossed it callously at his son’s feet. “I think this explains it.”
Kenneth recognized his essay paper, the bold F in the top margin a painful reminder of his defiance. “I-I didn’t deserve that, Father,” he stammered nervously, puzzled that his father’s rage seemed to be building instead of subsiding with each rise and fall of the man’s broad chest.
Richard took one brisk stride toward his son, eliminating the space between them. Drawing his right hand back, he slapped Kenneth squarely across the side of his face, the sickening noise of flesh striking flesh almost as disturbing as the terrified boy’s pained cry as he fell to his side. “You don’t think you deserve it, so you go and tell the school principal that your teacher has been molesting you?” he screamed. “Is that how you take responsibility for your own failures, your own stupidity?”
Instinctively curling into a fetal position, Kenneth covered his head with his hands, his pleas muffled within the protective cocoon. “No! No! You have it all wrong!” he shrieked. “It’s all true, Father. He made me do terrible things, and when I-I wouldn’t today, he gave me that bad grade.”
Grabbing Kenneth by the arm, Richard hauled his son from the floor and tossed him on the bed for further interrogation. “Why would a man with Mr. Kendall’s credentials risk his entire career, his family, just so he could touch you?” He waved his arms wildly at his sides, engulfed with rage. “Answer me that?” he demanded.
With a protective forearm braced in front of his blood-red cheek, Kenneth shook his head repeatedly. “I-I don’t know. He made me do it. I didn’t want to! I didn’t!” he implored.
“You’re lying! You little pervert!” Richard shouted, his finger pointing accusingly at the cowering youth. “I won’t have you disgrace this family or the Hutchinson name because of your own failures! I expect you to apologize to both him and Principal Anderson first thing in the morning, before this thing gets out of hand. Thank God Principal Anderson gave me the chance to get to the bottom of this before he went to the authorities. You could’ve cost this man everything he’s worked for.”
“But I’m telling the truth, Father! I am!” Tears streamed from Kenneth’s eyes as he beseeched his father to listen to him.
“Not another word, Kenneth,” Richard warned. “You’ll do as I say! And quit crying! Tears show weakness.” He turned to leave the room and called over his shoulder. “Oh, and no dinner for you tonight. I don’t want to see your face at the table. Go to bed.”
Kenneth watched dejectedly as his father disappeared from his room. He quietly slipped into his flannel pajamas and climbed into bed, wincing as his cheek brushed against the cool cotton pillowcase. Reaching to the small table at his bedside, he turned off the lamp, welcoming the darkness, where tears could be shed without fear of ridicule.
The silhouette of his mother appeared in the doorway as she reached to close his door. “Good night, son.”
“Good night,” a soft voice replied through the darkened room. “Mother?”
“Yes?”
“You believe me, don’t you?” A stifled sniffle accompanied the question.
“Evelyn! I’m hungry. Is dinner ready yet?” A booming voice called from downstairs.
Evelyn Hutchinson jumped slightly, her eyes jutting toward the stairway leading to the living room. “Coming, dear,” she called out before turning back to the darkened bedroom. She didn’t answer her son’s question. “Go to sleep, Kenneth,” she whispered, her eyes slowly looking away from the figure huddled under the covers as she quietly closed the door.
~*~*~
Present Day
Choking back emotion, Hutch gritted his teeth and turned to his side, furious with himself for allowing the painful memories to be dredged up from the haven where he had stowed them years ago. He tried to replace the images with ones of Starsky, but the warm, loving smile of his partner transformed into the jeering smirk of William Kendall as he stood before his teacher forcing an apology for his accusations. His mind seemed to be programmed on replay, the horrifying chain of events continuing to gnaw at him until exhaustion won its battle, and he drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Morning brought peace, the glistening sun and cool morning air coursing through an open window, giving Hutch a needed boost from the nightmares that had taunted him throughout the night. A brisk knock on the door heightened his mood even more, knowing that the welcome face of his partner would be waiting on the other side. The fact that Starsky was thirty minutes early was further cause for celebration.
“C’mon in, Starsk,” Hutch called as he downed a glass of chilled orange juice at the kitchen sink, his back to the door. “Door’s open.” He heard the door open and close behind him. Glancing at his watch, he complimented his partner on his punctuality. “Hey, you’re a full thirty minutes early. I’m impressed,” he praised as he turned around.
“Am I, Kenneth?” was the smug reply.
Hutch’s face drained of color as his eyes met the cold stare of William Edward Kendall. He immediately drew his Magnum, finger tight on the trigger. “What the hell do you want, Kendall?”
The man looked older than the nearly fifteen years that separated him and his former student. Time had not been kind, his features tired and careworn. As Hutch peered into the murky blue depths that bore into him, he saw something lingering there that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up¾a cold, unbalanced glint of evil that replaced the confident and stern gaze Kendall’s students had once respected, and he had always feared.
“So you remember me now. I wondered how long it would take.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Kendall’s mouth. He raised an open hand in a placid gesture while eying the barrel of the gun trained on him. “There’s no need for violence.”
Hutch retained a firm grip on his weapon. “I’m not the same naïve boy I was in middle school. If you want something, you’d better spill it now, because my patience is wearing thin.”
“It’s very simple, Kenneth.” Kendall gingerly clasped his hands in front of him and rocked forward on the balls of his feet, his tone of voice succinct while showing little emotion. “What I want is what you’ve taken from me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hutch glowered at Kendall. “I didn’t take anything from you.”
Kendall cocked his head at a peculiar angle, eyelashes batting rapidly over his blank stare. “Oh, but you did,” he corrected calmly. “Even though you recanted your accusations to both myself and Principal Anderson, the damage was done. You see, Anderson had some reservations about the amount of time I had been spending with you after school. After you confided in him, it confirmed what he had feared, even though you later said it was all a misunderstanding over a failing grade. Without your cooperation, he knew it was useless to pursue charges against me, but he wanted me out of his school. He confronted me with his suspicions and asked me to leave after the end of the school year. If I did, things would be kept quiet.”
Taking a deep breath, he momentarily squeezed his eyes shut, his hands twitching erratically, while he mumbled a barrage of inaudible words. As his focus returned to Hutch, so did an unnerving calmness to his demeanor. “But things were anything but quiet,” he continued. “I couldn’t find a job anywhere. Anderson feared that the same thing might happen at another school, so word filtered out that I was an incompetent teacher. The financial stress caused my marriage to collapse. My wife took my son and moved out here to California. I rarely got to visit him. I was left penniless and without my family.”
Hutch felt no sympathy for the man standing before him. In his eyes, Kendall got what he deserved, as his lack of sympathy proved. “I’d say you got off pretty easy,” he summarized coldly. Pausing in contemplation, he warily scanned the man from head to toe, his detective instincts telling him there was more to the story than had been revealed so far. “So, why are you telling me this now?”
“Why? I want you to know what you’ve done to my life. What you’ve taken from me little by little over twenty-three years. I buried my son three weeks ago in San Diego. He was murdered over five lousy dollars by some two-bit thug with a drug habit.” There was a noticeable quiver in Kendall’s voice, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Hutch offered some compassion but remained guarded. “I’m sorry that happened, but what does that have to do with me?”
“Everything!” Kendall snapped back lividly as his body trembled with unbridled fury, his demeanor changing like the flick of a light switch. “Don’t you see? I lost everything, everything, because of you! Melinda never would’ve left me if only you’d kept your mouth shut. I wouldn’t have lost my job. I could’ve supported her and Robby. I’d still be teaching and not living hand-to-mouth like I’ve been for the last twenty-three years without my family. Robby would still be safe in Duluth.” With his eyes jutting from their sockets like a crazed madman’s, he raised his clenched fists into the air, shaking them wildly with fury. “Robby is dead because of you! All because of yoooou!” he howled.
“You can’t blame that on me!” Hutch countered with vehemence. “I never asked for what you did to me.” The stone wall of emotions he had kept dammed up since those unspeakable events in his life crumbled, leaving the raw pain of what Kendall had done to him screaming for penitence. “I was a child for God’s sake!”
Kendall briefly cupped his hands over his ears before stabbing an accusing finger in front of Hutch’s face. “No, no, you’re wrong! It is your fault! It’s all your fault! You’re going to pay! You’re going to pay with everything that’s important to you-your job, your dignity, your lover, Detective Starsky. I want to take everything from you, just like you did me.”
Retreating one step backward, Hutch swallowed hard, trying to force down the choking knot that had formed in his throat at the mention of Starsky’s name. “How do you know about St-?” His words abruptly ended there, the fear of divulging more than Kendall actually knew preventing him from completing the question.
“How do I know that you and Detective Starsky are lovers?” Kendall finished for him, regaining his composure. “I’ve been following you ever since Robby’s funeral. It wasn’t hard to find you. You’re a regular hometown hero back in Duluth with all the well-publicized arrests you and your partner have made here,” he growled, words dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been watching your every move, trying to find out what’s most important to you. It’s obvious by the long hours you work that your job is high on the list. The discovery that you and your partner are lovers was a bonus I hadn’t expected. It took me a while-you two were quite discreet-but I finally got the proof I needed.”
Hutch seethed with anger, still refusing to admit to Kendall’s allegations. “Get out of here while you can still walk,” he warned.
“Not until I finish what I came here for,” Kendall retorted. He reached into his coat pocket, producing a bulky envelope, and tossed it on the coffee table. “I think I’m going to be the one making the demands around here.” He motioned toward the package. “After you see these, I think you’ll agree. I was up all night developing them just for your viewing pleasure.”
With great reluctance, Hutch harnessed his weapon, settled in the chair next to the sofa, and picked up the envelope. He pulled out a stack of photos and observed the first in sickened disbelief, then the second, followed by the third, before flipping through the rest of the pile, staring at the images of Starsky and him making love the previous day at the place they thought had been their refuge away from everything, their secluded hideaway. The photos captured every detail of their intimacy, leaving nothing to the imagination. Throwing the photos down in disgust, Hutch leapt from his chair and grabbed Kendall by the lapels of his jacket.
“You son-of-a-bitch!” Hutch bellowed through gritted teeth while shaking his tormentor with a ferocity that could provoke whiplash. “How did you get these?”
Kendall cackled proudly, his smile nearly stretching ear to ear.
The violent shaking having little effect on the deranged man, Hutch released his grip and roughly shoved Kendall away. “Tell me!” he demanded.
“Having a hobby in photography has its advantages. I had to do something to support myself after losing my job. I’ve become quite gifted at shooting and developing my own images,” Kendall bragged. “You and your partner took care of the rest.” He retrieved a picture from the coffee table, one that depicted a particularly heated display of passion and ran his hand across the glossy surface. “I wonder how interested your captain would be in these? Captain Dobey, isn’t it? Or maybe Dan Simonetti in Internal Affairs? I’m sure they would have a heyday with the scandal this would provoke.”
Hutch eased into the chair next to the sofa, palming his face in his hands while he mulled over the consequences if the photos ever got into the wrong hands. IA would relish in the free-for-all that would ensue, and he wasn’t sure if Dobey would be any more accommodating, but that wasn’t his first concern. It was Starsky. How could he risk their intimacy being revealed? He recalled Starsky’s reaction when Tuley had taunted him, the sheer fury that the comments had provoked in his friend ensuring the realization he could never let the depth of their relationship be known. They’d be the laughingstock at Metro, the butt of endless jokes and jeers-that is, if they even continued to have a job. If IA had a hand in it, they wouldn’t. Starsky would hate him, never forgive him, and that was something he couldn’t live with.
Sighing with defeat, Hutch gathered the telltale photos in a pile and turned them facedown on the table away from his view. “W-what do you want from me?” he asked with great reluctance.
Kendall beamed smugly. “Ah, that stutter. You still have that stutter I so fondly remember when we-”
“What do you want from me?!” Hutch shouted, interrupting what he had no desire to be reminded of.
A simple shrug accompanied Kendall’s request. “Break it off with Starsky. I don’t want to see him over here, and I don’t want to see you at his place. End it.”
Hutch’s heart sank as he heard the daunting demand placed upon him. “It’s not that easy,” he uttered with a despairing shake of his head. “He’ll never understand. We work together every day.”
“You won’t. Not for long,” Kendall proposed callously. “Turn in your resignation. You’ve got one week, no more. If you don’t, I’ll mail a set of photos to both your captain and Internal Affairs. And, in case you get any ideas of something happening to me, don’t. I’ve entrusted a set of photos to a dear friend with clear instructions that if anything at all were to happen to me, he’s to mail the photos to their respective recipients. I’m staying at the Sunset Motel, not far from here, and I’ll be watching every move you make, so I suggest you abide by my wishes.” He tugged confidently at the worn lapels of his jacket and turned to leave. “I guess that covers about everything.”
Crossing his forearms across his churning stomach, Hutch struggled to find some way to reach through to Kendall, some way to stop this madness. “D-don’t you think you’ve put me through enough hell?” he posed quietly, searching for answers for both the present and the past.
Kendall turned around, his inexpressive stare complemented by the same odd tilt of his head. “Don’t you understand? I have to do this…for Robby’s sake. I have to, Kenneth.” He sauntered across the floor and left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him.
Hutch leaned back against the chair and heaved a despairing sigh while clenching his eyes shut, the reality of the situation taking a firm hold on his emotions. How could he end something as special as the love they shared? Starsky would never understand, not when things had been so perfect between them. He couldn’t grasp the notion of hurting the one person who meant the world to him, ending their relationship for no apparent reason. Maybe if he could make Starsky stop loving him, it would be easier. Hutch swallowed hard, realizing what he had to do. Starsky would walk through that door any minute, late as usual, clad in skin-tight denim jeans that always revealed an enthusiastic “good morning” before the tender kiss that accompanied it, oblivious to the changes this day would bring and what lay ahead for both of them¾the beginning of the end of me and thee.
~*~*~
“‘Mornin’, partner,” Starsky greeted as he strutted in unannounced at 7:00 a.m. sharp, well before his usual fifteen-to-twenty-minute-late arrival time. He balanced two large styrofoam cups on the palm of his left hand, a brown paper sack in the other, while he proficiently kicked the door shut with his foot. “Got a little somethin’ for ya to get the day off to a good start.”
Caught off guard by Starsky’s unusual punctuality, Hutch leapt to his feet, panic-stricken, and grabbed the pictures that still remained on the coffee table, hurrying to dispose of them in a kitchen drawer among a pile of owner’s manuals and receipts. He wiped his hands nervously on his thighs and turned to greet his friend, his ashen face and rigid body language a stark contrast to the casualness of his words. “Hey, Starsk, you’re early.”
“Actually, I’m right on time,” Starsky countered with pride.
“Which is early for you,” Hutch retorted, his words edgy as he approached the kitchen table and leaned on the back of the chair. “What’s in the sack?”
Starsky’s gaze trailed Hutch from head to toe before briefly darting toward the kitchen drawer that had just been slammed shut. He placed the items in question on the kitchen table. “Bagels and cream cheese. I brought the coffee, too. Sound good?” Slipping an arm around the small of Hutch’s back, he attempted to pull his lover in for a kiss.
Hutch tensed at the contact, returning an offhand kiss before pulling away and pretending to take an interest in the contents of the sack, even though the thought of food threatened to dispel the contents of his already churning stomach. “I just had a protein shake,” he lied, but I’ll save these for later. Thanks.” He strolled to the refrigerator and placed the sack inside, leaving Starsky’s empty arms outstretched in midair.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” Starsky scoffed, dropping his arms dejectedly at his sides. “Did someone get up on the wrong side of the bed?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” Hutch offered no other apology.
“I can tell. You look like hell.” Starsky brushed by his friend and retrieved the sack from the refrigerator. “Do you mind if I have some then?”
“Since when do you like bagels and cream cheese?” Hutch snapped, outwardly cringing at his unintentional harshness.
“Since now, okay?” Starsky growled back. “Geez, looks like I’ve got a fun day in store.” He rummaged in the cabinet for a plate, then searched through a drawer, without success, for a knife. He purposely moved to the drawer where Hutch had concealed the mystery item, and reached for the knob.
“Get out of there!” Hutch yelled, slamming the drawer shut, nearly catching one of Starsky’s fingertips in the process. He stood protectively in front of the counter, barring any further access.
Starsky jumped back in startled disbelief. “I just want a knife for the cream cheese, okay?”
Hutch took a deep breath and forced a smile. He pulled the drawer open next to where he was standing. “You know the knives are in here.”
Starsky refused the offer of a knife. “What’s wrong with you, huh? You’ve been on edge ever since I walked in. Whatever you stashed in that drawer is your business. If you don’t want me to know about it, fine.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me, okay?” Hutch didn’t address the issue of the contents of the drawer. “I told you I didn’t sleep well. Can’t we leave it at that?”
“Yeah, sure, partner.” Starsky angrily jerked opened the refrigerator and tossed the paper sack back inside and slammed it shut. “I’m not hungry anymore.” He stormed toward the door, never looking back. “You comin’?”
Hutch drew a hand despairingly down the length of his face, the scenario that had just played out hurting him as much as it had hurt his friend. “I’m sorry, Starsk,” he mouthed silently to himself. He trudged to the Torino, where he found his partner impatiently waiting with the engine revving. As he opened the car door, Hutch glanced up and was greeted with a sneering wave from William Kendall parked inconspicuously in a late-model sedan a safe distance across the street from them. Hutch darted him an icy stare, prompting a pompous grin from Kendall before he pulled from the curb and disappeared into the rush-hour traffic.
~*~*~
As Starsky maneuvered in and out of the morning crush of cars, he avoided the issue of the concealed item, hoping that the progression of the day would find Hutch in a better mood and more willing to talk about his bizarre behavior. He offered a change of subject as an unspoken truce between them. “So, who was he?”
Hutch pulled his gaze from the open passenger window. “Huh?” he replied distractedly.
Sighing in frustration, Starsky repeated himself. “Who was he, the guy you saw yesterday at the crime scene? You said you remembered who he was.”
Hutch cleared his throat and shifted uneasily on the leather seat. “Oh, uh, just someone I knew back in Duluth.”
“That’s all?” Starsky prompted with a shrug of his open palm.
“Yeah, that’s all,” Hutch replied sharply.
“You seemed a little rattled when I talked to you last night. I thought maybe there was more to it.” Starsky stretched an arm across the back of the seat and caressed the back of Hutch’s neck. “You sure?”
Hutch leaned away from the touch. “I’m sure.”
Starsky’s hand flopped to his lap with resignation. “Whatever you say.”
The rest of the ride to Metro was made in relative silence, a few sparse words about their caseload for the day the only communication between them.
Things didn’t improve as they settled in to attend to their postponed paperwork. Hutch took refuge behind his typewriter for the majority of the morning, avoiding the continual stares from his partner across their desk inviting conversation.
Slapping a file shut, Starsky stretched his arms at full length over his head before rubbing them lightly against the slight pudge of his belly. “Well, that’s that,” he surmised with satisfaction. “I’m finished. How ’bout we grab an early lunch at Huggy’s and then check out that lead on the Sanders homicide? I’m starvin’.”
Barely looking up, Hutch spoke around the pencil clenched between his teeth. “Go ahead. I’ve got more to do. Just come back by and pick me up when you’re finished.”
Starsky didn’t push the issue for Hutch to accompany him but offered a suggestion instead. “Look you’re the one always preachin’ to me about eating better. You’re not gonna go all day on that liquid concoction you call breakfast. At least let me bring you somethin’ back.”
“I’m not hungry,” Hutch insisted.
“Turkey on wheat?” Starsky suggested with an obstinate arch of his eyebrows, his stubborn blue eyes boring into his partner.
Hutch tossed the pencil aside and sighed jadedly. “Okay, I know when to admit defeat. Light on the mayo.”
Darting a wink at his disgruntled friend, Starsky grinned victoriously. “You got it, partner.”
~*~*~
“So, were you able to get it just the way I wanted?” Starsky asked anxiously, peering into the dark eyes of his friend standing behind the bar.
Huggy’s lips curled in a confident smile as he gingerly wiped the inside of a highball glass before stacking it in its place with the others. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a long velveteen box and carefully snapped the hinged lid open, tilting the gold watch so it glistened even in the dimly lit bar. He turned the watch over, revealing the engraving on the other side. “Now, Starsky, would The Bear ever let you down?” He held the back of the watch closer to Starsky’s face for inspection. “‘Love you always, Starsk.’ See? Just like you wanted.”
Starsky took the watch from Huggy and reflectively brushed his thumb across the neatly inscribed words, a haze of moisture glazing his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect, Hug. He’s gonna love it.” He pulled his gaze from the intended birthday present and graciously patted Huggy on the arm. “Thank you for taking care of all this. I’m not so good at plannin’ surprise parties, especially if I had it at some fancy restaurant. Besides, he’d probably suspect somethin’ if you told him to meet you at Alfredo’s for a lead.” He drew in a satisfied breath and returned the watch to its box and carefully closed the lid, before placing it in his jacket pocket. “It’ll do Hutch good to get out. He’s been a bear today, no pun intended,” he added with a wink.
“Happy to oblige,” Huggy readily offered. Propping his arms on the bar, he draped the dishcloth he was holding over his shoulder and relayed the details for the intimate surprise party. “It’s all set.” He pointed at a small table in the corner of the bar, somewhat secluded from the hustle and bustle of the busy establishment. “That’s my best table, and it’ll have your name on it. I’ll make the call at six-forty-five tomorrow and tell Blondie to get his tail down here if he wants the latest on that bank heist you two have been tryin’ to crack. If I know Hutch, and I know Hutch, he’ll be down here lickety split.”
“And the food?” Starsky posed.
Huggy smugly touched his fingertips to his chest. “Hey, you’re talkin’ to the Chef Huggy LeBear here, connoisseur of fine cuisine and spirits.”
With a playful roll of his eyes, Starsky emitted a snort under his breath, initiating a disgruntled but equally playful grimace from Huggy.
“You and the love of your life will be sinking those pearly whites into two thick-sliced T-bones, cooked to order with all the fixin’s, and fresh coconut meringue pie for dessert. That anything to snort about?” Huggy arched his eyebrows in interest waiting for the predicted reply.
Starsky smacked his lips in delight, eyes twinkling like a kid in a candy store. “Well, it might be a challenge, but I’ll force myself to eat it.”
“Uh, huh,” Huggy retaliated with a chortle. “That’s what I thought.”
Diane appeared from the kitchen carrying a brown sack. “Here you go, Starsky. Double cheeseburger heavy on the onion, large fry, and a turkey on wheat, light on the mayo. You’re all set.”
“Thank ya, darlin’.” Starsky took the sack while darting a flirty wink at the buxom waitress and headed for the door. “See ya tomorrow, Hug,” he called over his shoulder.
~*~*~
Hutch was still seated at his desk, poring over the same file he had been engrossed in nearly an hour earlier, when his partner returned.
“Lunch is served,” Starsky announced. “Let’s eat.” He plopped down the brown paper sack on the stack of paperwork in front of his partner. With an agitated sigh, Hutch moved the sack aside and returned to his file. “I’ll eat it later.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up, to peer into the face of his friend whose expression most certainly held a look of confusion and hurt at being shunned for no apparent reason.
“You agreed to a turkey sandwich, light on the mayo,” Starsky reminded him. “Eat it now, while it’s still fresh.” He stubbornly returned the sack to its perch on Hutch’s paperwork.
With a roll of his eyes, Hutch snatched the sandwich from the sack, tearing a quick bite from the layers of turkey, then callously tossing it aside. “Happy now?” he scoffed, returning to his work. Propping his forehead on his open palm, he attempted to create a makeshift barrier between them, shielding himself from the discerning gaze asking why. The sound of Starsky’s lunch dropping into the metal trashcan at the side of their desk conveyed the hurt his actions were responsible for. Hutch pressed his fingertips deep into the creases of his forehead, rubbing them across the fine lines, struggling to remain stern and not offer the apology he desperately wanted to offer.
The next hour was spent in relative silence, as they finished the last of their work before heading out on the streets. It wasn’t long before their first call came in, a possible homicide in a warehouse near the shipping district. The two detectives arrived at the scene and found the body outside a large sliding door. A single gunshot wound to the head was the obvious cause of death, leading both men to be extremely cautious as they investigated the building and its surroundings.
With weapons drawn, they entered the warehouse, Hutch scaling the right inside perimeter of the building, Starsky the left. A tall dark-haired man darted behind a stack of crates within Hutch’s view, then scrambled toward a nearby exit in hopes of escaping capture. Hutch immediately pursued the suspect, darting a warning wave at Starsky across the width of the building to let him know the perpetrator had been seen. The exit emptied into a large parking lot lined by a busy side street.
“Freeze! Police!” Hutch called to the suspect, his Magnum trained on the man who now was running across the gravel lot. As the man turned to fire upon him, Hutch’s eyes were drawn, not to the weapon aimed at his chest, but to a car in the distance, which had slowed to watch the commotion. The familiar sadistic wave of Kendall flagged from the open window of the sedan, pulling Hutch’s attention away from the man intent on escaping from his predicament, no matter the cost. That split second of inattention allowed the suspect to fire two rounds from his gun, the rounds whizzing by Hutch’s head close enough that he could feel the stir of air ruffle several fine strands of hair. One shot rang out behind him, the well-aimed bullet finding its target in the suspect’s chest, dropping him like a lead weight. The man’s weapon scattered from his lifeless hand across the gravel, eliminating any further danger. Two uniformed officers, Daniels and Mattingly, who had been dispatched for reinforcement, witnessed the incident and ran to the lifeless figure, a quick signal to Starsky and Hutch assuring them the man was dead.
“Hutch? You okay?” Starsky called out in sheer horror as he holstered his weapon and rushed to his partner’s side. His hand immediately reached around the nape of Hutch’s neck in a comforting gesture, and pulled the ashen face closer to his own, until their lips nearly touched.
Hutch stared blankly at his friend, still unable to process what had just taken place. His gaze shifted to the dead man lying in the parking lot, then to the weapon that nearly took his life, his mouth agape as he searched for words he couldn’t seem to find. He reached to cup Starsky’s jaw in his open palm, his thumb brushing across the dark-complected skin, relaying a silent thank-you. “I-I’m fine,” he finally managed to utter, savoring the security their close stance provided. From over Starsky’s shoulder, he could see Kendall taunt a warning finger in his direction, clearly displeased at the show of affection between the two men. Hutch quickly pulled away from Starsky’s touch, turning his back to his friend as he walked toward the Torino. “Just fine.”
Kendall drove away, head dipping backward as he cackled menacingly at his success.
Oblivious to the stranger in the background, Starsky followed on Hutch’s heels to the Torino, waiting impatiently in the driver’s seat for Hutch to finish notifying the coroner and crime scene investigators. Hutch hadn’t even replaced the mic before Starsky started demanding answers. “So, you wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?”
“What do you mean? Nothing happened back there,” Hutch snapped, his lips pursing angrily.
“No? So, you just decided to get your ears pierced by a .44 Magnum, today?” Starsky flipped a loose strand of hair at the side of Hutch’s head.
“You just beat me to the shot, okay?” Hutch knew his reasoning sounded ludicrous, but he had no other explanation.
“Hutch, I was a good fifty yards behind you,” Starsky countered. “You had a clear shot way before I did. He could’ve killed you for God’s sake!”
“Well, he didn’t, okay?” Hutch’s head dropped, his adrenaline slowing enough that the seriousness of the situation began to take a foothold on his emotions. “He didn’t,” he added softly.
Starsky sighed as his hand reached out to his friend. “What’s wrong, babe? It’s not like you to be so careless.”
Hutch swiftly batted away the offered hand. “Careless? Oh, so now I’m careless?” He shook his head from side to side in ire. “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities, partner,” he growled, a subconscious ploy to divert the blame toward his friend.
“That’s not fair, Hutch, and you know it.” Starsky jabbed at the air with his index finger. “You almost get yourself killed out there, and then you just expect me to chalk it up to the luck of the draw. That’s bullshit and you know it! What’s wrong with you? Why are you shutting me out? You’ve been acting like I’ve got some contagious disease ever since I picked you up this morning.”
Hutch gratefully observed the arrival of the crime scene investigators, giving him the out he needed to avoid the barrage of questions from Starsky. “Gotta get to work.” He motioned toward the flurry of activity already surrounding the body.
“Yeah, well, we’re not through talking about this, and don’t think we are,” Starsky warned with a slam of the Torino door.
The rest of the afternoon was spent wrapping up loose ends of the case and dealing with more paperwork, while Hutch carefully avoided any further interrogation by his partner.
Starsky pulled up to the curb in front of Venice Place, put the car into park, and shut off the engine.
The dark sedan parked across the street did little to garner Starsky’s attention, but Hutch’s reaction was quite different. He hurriedly exited the Torino and started toward the door of the apartment building, avoiding eye contact with Kendall, yet remaining acutely aware of his presence. “See you tomorrow,” he called back with intentional coolness.
“No, I’ll see you right now,” Starsky corrected, pocketing his car keys and following behind Hutch. “We’re not through talking.”
Whirling on his heels, Hutch pressed his palm to Starsky’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “Look, it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I don’t feel like talking.”
“I’m not gonna let this go, Hutch.” Starsky brushed the dogged hand away and marched to the doorway with a determined gait.
A quick glance toward Kendall, who signaled an unfaltering shake of his head, assured Hutch there was no room for negotiation in this matter. “I said no, Starsky!” he screamed, the tone of his voice nearly causing Starsky to stumble on the stairs.
Starsky turned to face his friend, a jumble of hurt and disbelief shadowed in the expression on his face. “Well, I guess you made that perfectly clear,” he forced hoarsely from his throat as he brushed past Hutch on his trek back to the Torino.
Hutch drew a tight fist to his mouth, biting hard into his index finger to quell the apology that threatened to spill from his lips. His jaw tightened with rage as he saw Kendall’s smug smile from his place across the street. Whirling, Hutch stormed up the steps of Venice Place, his rigid stance a testament to the fury that brewed inside of him.
~*~*~
Needing to clear his thoughts, Starsky drove to the secluded spot Hutch and he had shared, not only yesterday but several times before, in their quest to get away from the hassles of the city and their job¾a place where they felt safe, where they could show their love for one another unconditionally and without fear of ridicule or prejudice. He leaned despairingly against the headrest, briefly closing his eyes in an attempt to push the events of the day from his mind. As the sun hung low in the cloudless sky, casting shadows over the familiar field in front of him, he couldn’t help thinking that things were different at their special place today. The sun’s rays somehow didn’t seem as bright, gracing the landscape with only tepid warmth. The only bird sounding from the trees sang a melancholy tune, as if something wasn’t right in his feathered world. “Yeah, pal, I know just how you feel,” Starsky commented aloud in response to the forlorn song.
He couldn’t understand the change in Hutch’s demeanor, leaving him with questions but no answers. Or were there answers and he just refused to admit it? Was Hutch having reservations about their intimacy and trying to tell him it was all a mistake? Was he so unhappy in their relationship and partnership that the distraction nearly cost him his life? Starsky held onto the hope that it was all a misunderstanding, refusing to give into the fear that continually nagged at him. With an indomitable slam of his fist against the dashboard, he refused to surrender to those uncertainties. Tomorrow would be different. He would surprise Hutch with his birthday dinner at Huggy’s, give him the watch he had spent weeks picking out, jab a few comments at his friend about his lousy mood today¾to which Hutch would call him Dirtball or some other well-meaning term of affection¾then they would go home and make love until the wee hours of the morning, falling asleep with their satiated bodies intertwined in a loving embrace. Things would be right again. “He’s just had a bad day, that’s all,” Starsky assured himself as he started the engine and headed home, brimming with renewed hope.
~*~*~
Hutch paced the floor of his apartment, filled with both fury and regret. His long fingers trailed down the bridge of his nose before curling in a clenched fist that slammed in a resounding thud against a wall as he briskly stomped past it. He felt like a caged animal faced with imminent death, the hunter circling him, biding his time before delivering the fatal blow. Stepping to the window, he pulled the curtain slightly back. Kendall’s car was still there and most certainly would be until he was satisfied that Starsky wouldn’t return that evening. As he turned away from the window, a feeling of hopelessness gripped his body in an ironclad hold. The look of hurt on Starsky’s face¾the look he was responsible for¾blinded him with guilt and remorse, twisting his insides into agonizing knots that were torturing him physically and emotionally. He didn’t know how he could go through another day like today, how he could again hurt the one person that meant more to him that life itself. Kendall had given him a week to break things off and leave his job, but Hutch knew it wouldn’t take that long. He couldn’t do that to Starsky. He had to find a way to end it¾soon.
Morning brought no reprieve for Hutch. As he descended the steps toward the Torino, Kendall once again waved from his perch across the street from Venice Place, leaving Hutch to wonder if his tormentor had ever left the previous night. Even though Starsky greeted him with a warm smile, conversation was awkward and strained between the two friends, leaving them making insipid comments about the weather and the hassles of morning rush-hour traffic on their way into work.
Metro was already bustling with detectives and uniformed cops attending to their business when Starsky and Hutch arrived. As they entered the squadroom, they were met with a stern glare from their captain who stood amidst the busy officers, impatiently tapping his fingers on top of the water cooler. His lips were thinned in a look of intense displeasure as his dark eyes fell upon his two best detectives.
“‘Mornin’, Cap’n,” Starsky greeted with a mock salute and forced cheerfulness in his voice.
“I want to see you two in my office,” he growled, turning abruptly and traipsing into his office with enough force that a whirlwind of paperwork billowed to the floor behind him.
Starsky and Hutch exchanged brief glances, raised eyebrows assuring that neither had a clue as to what had ruffled their burly captain’s feathers so early in the morning. They followed him into his office, closed the door, and settled in the chairs in front of his desk.
“Somethin’ wrong, Cap’n?” Starsky inquired cautiously, in front of Dobey’s scowling glare.
Rolling an ink pen between his large fingers, Dobey suddenly jabbed it in Hutch’s direction. “I think I should be asking Hutchinson that.”
Hutch immediately straightened against the back of the vinyl chair and nervously cleared his throat, his hands clasped tightly together. “Uh, me, Cap’n?”
“Yes, you,” Dobey assured, tossing the pen down in frustration. “I had a little talk with Mattingly this morning, one of the officers who assisted you two on that warehouse homicide yesterday. He said you froze up when that perp had you in his sights, and you damn near got your head blown off.” With a quick wave of his hand in Starsky’s direction, he added, “He said if Starsky hadn’t been at your back, you’d be lying right next to those other two bodies in the city morgue. So, do you want to explain what happened out there?”
Hutch’s lips parted as he attempted to speak, the silent pause allowing Starsky to come to his aid.
“Mattingly was clear on the other side of the lot, Cap,” Starsky countered defensively. “I don’t see how he could tell who had who in their sights. I had a clear shot and I took it.” He nudged an elbow into Hutch’s upper arm. “I just happened to have a faster trigger finger, right Hutch?” he teased.
Pulling his arm away, Hutch shook his head in disagreement. “No, that’s not right. I screwed up, Starsky, and you know it.” He saw Starsky’s smile shatter into pain and disbelief at his betrayal, the anguish he saw etched in the face of the man he loved slamming into him with the force of a Mack truck.
Starsky lurched from the chair and stormed from the office, slamming the door behind him.
“Starsky!” Dobey called through the closed door.
“Let him go, Captain,” Hutch insisted.
“So, is that what’s wrong?” Dobey adeptly ascertained. “Are you two into it?”
Sighing with despair, Hutch wished things were that simple. “We’re not really into it. Things have just been strained lately between the two of us. I don’t know what it is,” he lied with a nervous brush of his hands across his thighs. “We just don’t seem to click like we used to.”
Dobey leaned back in his chair, gently rocking it back and forth. “I don’t buy that, Hutchinson. Not for a minute. If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on between you two, that’s your business, but when it starts to jeopardize your life, it becomes my business. You get it worked out, and fast, or you’re going to be passing out desk lamps next to Bigalow in Supplies until you do. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Hutch answered quietly, knowing his attempt at an excuse had failed miserably. He stood from the chair and sauntered to the door, feeling Dobey’s eyes boring into his back with each step.
~*~*~
Starsky sat in the Torino, restlessly drumming his thumb on the steering wheel, waiting for Hutch to appear from the doorway. Anger surged through him, temporarily numbing the hurt that had dominated his feelings the last two days, a hurt that valiantly attempted to resurface as he saw the tall blond figure of his friend swing open the heavy metal door, stroll toward him, and take his usual seat on the passenger side. He waited patiently for Hutch’s apology or at least a valid explanation for his behavior.
“Well, let’s go.” Hutch flippantly motioned at the entrance to the parking garage. He made no mention of the incident that had just taken place in Dobey’s office.
His mouth agape in utter disbelief, Starsky shut off the engine instead, and turned toward Hutch, one forearm perched on top of the steering wheel, the other across the back of the leather seat.
“You wanna explain to me what you just did back there? Huh?” Starsky growled, his lips twitching with fury. “I went out on a limb to cover your ass, and you completely shot me down.”
“I just told the truth.” Hutch inattentively adjusted the side mirror, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead as he stared at his reflection.
“Well, your truth made me look like a fool, and you like some wet-behind-the-ears rookie, all at the same time.” He slammed his fist against the dash, garnering Hutch’s immediate attention. “Damn it, Hutch! Look at me!”
A spark ignited in Hutch’s narrowed eyes, nostrils flaring above his tightened jawline. “What do you want from me, Starsky?” he demanded.
Starsky’s expression softened, his pain burgeoning through the protective wall of anger so prevalent minutes before. “What do I want?” he asked, a slight waver in his voice hinting at the turmoil of emotion coursing through him. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you. That’s all. I don’t know what’s gotten into you these last few days, but I don’t understand it. Everything was fine, and then, all of a sudden, you act like you hate me or somethin’.”
Hutch peered into the moisture-laden eyes that were pleading for answers. His chin dropped to meet the rise of his chest as he pulled in a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I-I don’t hate you, Starsk.” His gaze returned to Starsky’s sallow face. “Don’t say that.”
Leaning closer to his friend, Starsky nervously pressed Hutch for answers. “Then, what it is? Huh? Are you having regrets about…about us?” The silence that hung in the air was thick with tension and uncertainty. Holding his breath, he awaited Hutch’s reply, the fingers of his left hand tensely wrapping around the steering wheel. The seconds seemed to stretch for hours until a mere whisper uttered from Hutch’s lips broke the torturous silence.
“Yes.” There was no eye contact, only one simple word that conveyed Starsky’s worst fears. Hutch looked down, shoulders slumped, hands clasped loosely in his lap.
Starsky felt his heart explode into a million pieces, choking the breath from him, sapping his strength, ripping his innermost being to shreds. He didn’t know how to respond, how to recover from the emotional blow that might as well have been fired from a cannon directly into his soul. “Well, I guess that explains a lot,” he finally mustered around the cotton coating his throat and mouth. A trembling hand reached to turn the ignition, bringing the Torino to life. As he pulled the car into traffic, he was perplexed by what he thought he saw in his peripheral view-Hutch discreetly brushing away what looked to be a tear that had trickled down his cheek. But why would Hutch be showing such emotion, when he was the one wanting out? The idea seemed ludicrous, and Starsky immediately shrugged off the notion, realizing he had to be mistaken. He couldn’t endure the pain of pursuing the matter any further, instead focusing on garnering the strength to make it through their shift, hoping he could at least preserve their partnership, the thought of losing that, too, more than his mind could comprehend at the moment.
~*~*~
The day was long and arduous, leaving no time for even a quick lunch. For that Hutch was grateful, their hectic caseload preventing further discussion of the conversation that had taken place between them, his proclamation that their love was a mistake¾a lie that would end their relationship, but save Starsky from certain ridicule and possibly losing his job. That was the only thing holding him together, saving Starsky from the pain of their intimacy being discovered in such a vile way as graphic photographs landing in the hands of their captain and IA. Kendall seemed to be around every corner, at every call the two men were summoned to¾a constant reminder of that threat, never giving him a moment’s peace. With only two more hours left in their shift, Hutch glanced at his watch for the umpteenth time, counting the minutes until he could retreat behind his apartment door, away from the leering gaze of Kendall and the aggrieved blank stares of his partner.
Unfortunately, those two hours didn’t pass as quickly as Hutch had hoped. For the first time all day, the radio didn’t crackle with Mildred’s discerning voice, the siren wasn’t blaring as they were en route to another call, the inside of the Torino was eerily silent.
Reaching across Hutch’s thighs, Starsky pulled the mic from its hook and pressed it to his mouth. “This is Zebra Three. Log us out one hour for lunch.” His announcement acknowledged, he maneuvered the Torino into the small gravel lot at The Dawg Howse, a whirl of dust surrounding the car as he shifted it into park. “Let’s eat,” he announced firmly, his words almost a command.
Hutch pressed a hand to his stomach, rubbing it lightly. “I’m not hungry, Starsk. Besides, our shift is over in two hours. I’ll wait and eat then.” He was avoiding the opportunity for conversation the hour would provide as much as the thought of introducing food to his churning stomach, but his words were met with a deaf ear from his partner.
Starsky slammed the car door shut and shuffled toward the entrance of the restaurant. “You comin’? It’s gonna get awfully hot sittin’ in that car for an hour.”
With an indignant sigh, Hutch emerged from the car and followed his partner inside, settling into a booth in the corner of the small establishment.
Starsky pulled the laminated menu from behind the napkin dispenser and studied the offerings. “What looks good?” he asked with subtle enthusiasm.
“Starsk, it’s a hot dog restaurant. All they have is hot dogs.” Hutch nervously fiddled with the paper placemat in front of him, before pushing a water-stained fork to the side of the table.
Trailing a finger down the long list of hot dog toppings, Starsky corrected, “Yeah, but you’ve got your Chicago-style, New York-style; and look, just for you, a veggie dog with alfalfa sprouts.” He cast a tender smile in Hutch’s direction as he turned the menu toward his friend, holding it up with one hand. “See? It’s the same thing you got at Nature’s Table when I took you out for lunch a while back. Remember that? It’ll be just like old times.”
Hutch drew a hand across the length of his face, hiding the slight quiver of his lip. He melted before the intimation of those words, his determination to shun Starsky crumbling under the weight of the adoring eyes striving to recapture what they were losing. His hand inched across the surface of the table, trembling fingers reaching to gingerly touch Starsky’s resting hand. “Starsk, I have to tell you-”
“So, what’ll it be gentlemen?” the intrusive waitress barked around popping gum as she pulled a pen from the bird’s nest hairdo perched above her rounded face, preparing to take their order.
“Tell me what?” Starsky pushed, ignoring the waitress’s presence. “Tell me what, Hutch?”
Jerking his hand away, Hutch stopped mid-sentence and looked down, avoiding Starsky’s anxious expression. “Nothing.” His gaze turned to the waitress. “I’ll just have milk.”
“Milk?” the waitress asked in agitated surprise, making little attempt to hide her frustration. “Okay. And for you, Mister?” she directed at Starsky.
With a hard swallow and a sallow face, Starsky resignedly returned the menu to its perch. “Uh-just water.”
The waitress turned in a huff, mumbling something about big spenders under her breath, while tucking her pen back into its haven of hairspray and backcombing.
Starsky opened his mouth to speak again, but Hutch lurched from the booth, determined to evade the conversation. “I gotta take a leak,” he announced callously as he hurried toward the men’s room.
Gratefully finding the bathroom empty, Hutch leaned his head against the wall next to the sink and wrapped an arm across his midsection, attempting to halt the violent waves crashing against the walls of his stomach. “I can’t do this,” he whispered aloud, oblivious to the opening of the door behind him. “I can’t do this,” he repeated.
“Oh, but you’ll have to, Kenneth.”
Whirling around, Hutch was met with Kendall’s livid stare. “What are you doing here?” he seethed through clenched teeth.
“I told you I’d be watching you,” Kendall warned. “I’m sure you’ve been aware of my presence throughout the day.
“There’s no need for you to follow me everywhere,” Hutch countered viciously. “What do you think I’m gonna do, fuck him in the bathroom?”
“Hmmmm…” Kendall sardonically touched a finger to his chin in thought. “Maybe. That was a touching moment you two shared before the waitress interrupted you. Who knows what that might have led to?”
Furious at the realization that Kendall had watched their entire conversation, Hutch growled, “Nothing happened and nothing was said. Now, stop following me! I told you I’d end it.” He attempted to brush by Kendall, but was halted by a stern grasp of his arm.
Kendall forced him back and leaned into the warmth of Hutch’s breath, his lips mere inches away. “Yeah, well you’d better. I’m not playin’ games.” His lips thinned in a conniving smile. “Maybe I should send a picture or two to your mother and father. I’m sure Richard would be proud to know his son is fucking his partner and best friend. It should make the trips back home to the family a real pleasure.”
“No!” Hutch shouted before lowering his voice, his eyes worryingly watching the door over Kendall’s shoulder. “Please. I-I won’t mess up again. Please.”
A contented snort rumbled from Kendall’s throat. “Well…okay,” he agreed. “You’ve got five days left. Remember that.” He waved Hutch ahead toward the door. “After you.”
Hutch reluctantly walked ahead, keeping a watchful eye over his shoulder as Kendall followed several steps behind him. To his relief, Kendall left the restaurant without the slightest acknowledgment that he knew him. Hutch returned to the booth where Starsky waited. His pallid complexion immediately alarmed his partner.
“Hutch, you okay?” Starsky asked with obvious concern.
Hutch leaned his weight against the edge of the table. “I don’t feel well, Starsk,” he admitted truthfully. “Please, take me home.”
“Yeah, sure.” Starsky quickly slid from the booth and tossed a five on the table, offering a cupped hand at Hutch’s elbow for support.
Tossing up an open palm, Hutch refused the contact. “I can walk. Just get me home.”
~*~*~
“I’m coming up with you,” Starsky adamantly announced as he pulled in front of Venice Place and reached for the ignition. “I wanna make sure you’re all-”
“No, Starsk.” Hutch pulled Starsky’s hand away from the keys as he kept a wary eye on Kendall in the background at his usual place across the street. “No,” he reiterated firmly, leaving no room for negotiation. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like arguing about this, okay? I’m going up to my apartment and taking a hot shower. I’ll eat some hot soup or something. I’m sure I’ll feel better then. I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?” Starsky’s hesitation to reply evoked a sense of urgency in Hutch’s voice. “All right, Starsky?”
“All right,” Starsky snapped.
Hutch hurried up the stairs out of Starsky’s view, closing the door tersely behind him.
As Starsky watched his friend disappear into the building, he agilely pulled away from the curb and mumbled aloud, “Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow, babe, but I’ll be seeing you tonight, too.”
~*~*~
“Is everything set, Huggy?” Starsky queried anxiously, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet, like a child waiting for the ice cream man to deliver a double scoop of chocolate marshmallow with extra sprinkles. Freshly showered and changed, he looked exceptionally striking in tight denim jeans and a chambray shirt. The velveteen box holding Hutch’s watch peeked from one of his shirt pockets. He leaned over the bar, obviously startling Huggy as his friend tended to stocking shelves under the taps. “Well, is it?”
With a jolt, Huggy darted up from his crouched position behind the bar. “Damn, Starsky, don’t do that. Everything is set unless I die of a heart attack before I get this party off the ground.” His eyes trailed the nervous figure before him. “You look like a cat on a hot tin roof. Why you so nervous?”
Plopping on a barstool, Starsky took a deep breath and exhaled sharply, resting his face in his hands. “Ah, Hug, I just want this to be perfect. Hutch and me, well, things have been tough these last few days. I don’t know what’s goin’ through his mind right now, but it’s not good, and I gotta do somethin’ before I lose him. I’m hopin’ tonight will make him see things differently. You know, realize that he’s not makin’ a mistake.”
“Mistake?” Huggy asked with surprise, perching his elbows on the bar. “Man, nothin’ about you two is a mistake.”
“Yeah, well, tell him that.” Starsky pulled the watch box from his pocket and brushed away a few miniscule particles of lint. He inspected the contents, making sure everything was still in place.
“Well, after you give him that and wine and dine him tonight, he’ll fall head over heels in love with you all over again. I have all the confidence in the world in your charming abilities and my cooking abilities,” he smiled.
“I sure hope you’re right.” Starsky nervously tapped his fingers in an uneven beat on the bar.
Glancing at his watch, Huggy pulled the phone from under the counter. “If I don’t get Blintz down here, though, this party ain’t gonna fly, so if you’ll excuse me, I have a call to make.”
~*~*~
Running a towel through his damp hair, Hutch hovered over the ringing phone, hesitant to answer it. He wasn’t sure who he feared more might be on the other end¾Kendall taunting him again, or Starsky wanting to talk. The persistent noise beckoned him, until he resignedly reached for the receiver. “Yeah?” he asked cautiously. A sigh of relief escaped him as he recognized Huggy’s voice on the other end. “Hey, Hug, what’s up?”
“You told me to see what I could find out about that bank heist that went down last week.”
“And?” Hutch feigned interest, his mind a million miles away.
“Well, I got a dude here who’s got info on the two thugs who pulled the job. He’s willin’ to talk for a twenty and a six-pack. He’s kinda hard up, ya know, but I think his info is legit.”
“Look, Huggy, I’m really not feelin’ well tonight. Could you just put him on the phone and spot him the twenty and beer for me?” Hutch rubbed his fingertips across his weary eyes. “Or call Starsky?”
“Did that, but your better half ain’t home. I tried tellin’ this cat to give you a call, but he got busted a while back after his phone was tapped. He don’t go near the things now, not even to call his mother. If you want the lowdown, you’d better get your butt down here now.”
Hutch peered around the corner of the curtain as he listened to Huggy and observed Kendall’s car still parked on the street below. His chest tightened with apprehension, the thought that Starsky could possibly be on his way there striking a chord of fear within him. At least if he left, Starsky wouldn’t be able to visit him, and if Kendall followed him to Huggy’s, nothing would come of it. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be right down.”
Hurrying to dress, Hutch dashed from the apartment and approached Kendall’s car. He leaned on the driver’s side door, his rigid posture emanating anger as he peered into his tormentor’s questioning eyes. “In case you’re wondering, I have a tip that I need to follow up on for a case. There’s no need to follow me. Starsky won’t be there.”
With a lazy stretch, Kendall yawned complacently. “All right, Kenneth,” he agreed with a smirk. “Bye-bye,” he added with a rolling wave of his fingers.
~*~*~
Huggy’s was bustling with the evening dinner and drinking crowd as Hutch entered the bar. He found Huggy in his usual place, shuffling drink orders and meal tickets. Hutch propped an arm on the counter and waited for his friend to approach him. He didn’t have to wait long.
“Hey, Hutch,” Huggy greeted with a cursory smile and a valid observation. “You look beat, man.”
“I am. I wanna make this quick.” Hutch shifted his weight on the barstool and scanned the blend of patrons in the center of the room. “So, where is he?”
With a quick jab of his finger, Huggy motioned to the table in the corner where Starsky was anxiously waiting. “Right over, there.”
Hutch’s gaze trailed from the tip of Huggy’s finger to the person in question, his mouth dropping open as his eyes fell upon Starsky, a timid wave greeting him from his friend. “That’s not a snitch, that’s…that’s….”
“Starsky,” Huggy aptly completed.
“I know who he is,” Hutch snapped. “But I don’t understand.” He turned back to Huggy. “What’s this about?”
Huggy threw his hands up in total ignorance. “Well, don’t ask me. I only own the place.”
Nervously wiping his hands across his thighs, Hutch strolled to the booth where Starsky was sitting, the endearing smile greeting him nearly causing his legs to buckle under his weight. “Hey,” he greeted softly as he slid into the booth across from his friend.
“Hey, yourself,” Starsky returned, opening his arms toward Hutch as he motioned at the bottle of wine on the table and the flickering candle centered on the checkered tablecloth. “Surprise.”
“Surprise for what?” Hutch asked, befuddled.
“For your birthday, babe.” Starsky gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. “I know it’s not for a few days, but I thought having the surprise dinner early might throw ya off the trail, you know, so I could really surprise ya.”
Leaning against the back of the booth, Hutch nodded and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m surprised, all right. So, you put Huggy up to this?” he questioned, darting a thumb in Huggy’s direction.
“That I did,” Starsky crowed, head held high. Reaching into his coat pocket, he produced the velveteen box and pushed it in Hutch’s direction, his hands dropping back to his lap in a white-knuckled clasp. “I got somethin’ for ya,” he announced proudly, a flutter of nervousness edged in his voice.
Hutch slowly reached for the gift, the slight tremble in his hand quieted as his long fingers wrapped around the narrow box. “For me?” He steadied the box with his other hand and pulled it open. The watch glistened in the muted lighting, the candlelight’s flicker bouncing off the gold finish with a gentle twinkle. “I don’t know what to say, Starsk.” He gently removed the watch from the clasps holding it in place, and balanced it on top of his wrist, admiring the intricate detail, completely lost in the moment. “I love it.”
Beaming proudly, Starsky made a quick rolling motion with his hand. “Turn it over.”
Still mesmerized by the touching gift, Hutch looked up blankly, unsure of what Starsky had said. “Huh?”
“The watch, turn it over,” Starsky repeated. “I had it engraved.”
“Dinner is served!” Huggy announced as he placed a steaming plate of food before each man, a white towel draped neatly across his forearm. His intrusion was unintentional, though the somewhat exasperated stare Starsky darted his way immediately made him aware that his timing was bad. “Should I come back to serve the wine?”
“I’ll take care of it, Hug. Thank you.” Starsky smiled warmly at Huggy. “Everything looks delicious. I owe ya one.”
“I’ll remember that,” Huggy teased. “Enjoy, gentlemen.”
“Thanks, Hug,” Hutch added graciously.
“My pleasure.” With a bow and a hasty click of his heels, Huggy returned to his place behind the bar, attending to the business at hand.
Even as the tempting aroma of the food wafted between the two men, the focus returned to the watch Hutch cupped in his hand. He carefully turned it over, tilting it slightly so the light caught the finely etched engraving, apprehensively biting at the corner of his lip as he read the words aloud. “‘Love you always, Starsk’.” The words caught in his throat, the tender sentiment cinching a foothold on his emotions. The world seemed to melt away, nothing surviving but the two of them and their love for one another. Hutch blinked away the moisture pooling in his eyes, his thumb brushing across the words that said much more than could ever fit on the back of a watch. “Starsk, I lo-”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, do you have the time?”
Hutch peered into the passive gaze of William Kendall. The watched slipped from his hand, bouncing with a soft thud against the table’s surface as he was pulled back to reality.
“It’s seven-forty-five, buddy,” Starsky snapped with noticeable irritability.
“Thank you,” Kendall replied politely, sauntering away, while whistling a light tune under his breath.
“I’ve gotta go.” Hutch hastily returned the watch to its box and shoved it in Starsky’s direction. “I have to go, now,” he repeated in desperation as he slid from the booth and bounded toward the exit.
“Hutch, wait!” Starsky called after him, clutching the rejected gift, his face draining of color.
Hutch’s long stride was no match for Starsky’s near dead run. A sharp tug on his arm whirled him around to face his friend and a demand for answers.
“Damn it, Hutch!” Starsky growled. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?” He held up the box containing the watch. “You tell me that you love it, then shove back in my face and walk out on me?” Lifting Hutch’s hand, he returned the gift to him. “It’s yours. I want you to have it.”
Hutch’s gaze passed Starsky’s and focused on the figure leaning against the jukebox nearby. Kendall smiled, then turned his attention to the music listings, feigning interest in the variety of tunes it offered.
Shoving the watch back at Starsky, Hutch replied with vehemence, purposely projecting his voice in Kendall’s direction. “I don’t want it! Don’t you understand that?”
Starsky swallowed hard, his face twisting with hurt as he swiftly shook his head from side to side. “No, no, I don’t understand, Hutch. Why don’t you try explainin’ it to me?”
Hutch’s head lulled forward, his shoulders slumping in defeat before he looked up once again at Kendall, hovering in the background, watching and listening to everything being said between them. His gaze trailed back to his partner. He couldn’t speak, the pain in Starsky’s eyes muting his words, ripping out his tongue so he couldn’t hurt him any further. He pulled from Starsky’s grasp and turned away in silence.
Starsky returned to the booth, shell-shocked, burying his face in his hands, oblivious to the looming figure that followed Hutch into the parking lot and the confrontation that followed.
Kendall stepped into Hutch’s path blocking his way to his car. “You lied to me!” he hissed. “I knew it! I knew you were going to meet him, that’s why I followed you. I warned you, didn’t I?”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Hutch countered, fervently shaking his head. “He tricked me into coming down here. You’ve got to believe me. I thought I was coming down here to talk to a snitch. He had this all planned for my birthday. I swear.”
“I’m tired of playing games. Tomorrow, Kenneth,” Kendall seethed. “You’ve got until tomorrow. Turn in your resignation and tell Starsky goodbye. If you don’t, I’ll make good on my threat.”
“How can you expect me to end it all that quickly?” Hutch posed in exasperation.
“That’s not my problem, now, is it?” Kendall replied with conviction. “Tomorrow,” he repeated sternly. “Is that clear?”
With a despondent shake of his head, Hutch had little choice but to agree. “Yeah, tomorrow.”
“Fine, we’re in agreement then.” Kendall waltzed away, disappearing quietly among the scattering of cars parked along the dimly lit street.
Hutch shoved the pedal of his LTD to the floor as he tore from the lot, pushing the worn engine as he had been pushed, both of them hovering near the brink of explosion as he barreled down the street toward his apartment.
~*~*~
Starsky’s eyes remained transfixed downward as Huggy settled into the booth across from him, offering a beer in place of the uneaten food.
“Man, I ain’t never seen Hutch act like that. That’s not the blintz I know,” Huggy assured him confidently, while pushing the plates aside.
Twirling his beer glass in the ring of condensation nestled around the bottom, Starsky studied the bubbles rising in the froth. “I’m losin’ him, Hug.” He looked up, peering into the depths of his friend’s dark eyes. “I’m losin’ him, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
Huggy sighed helplessly. “Look, he told me he’s not feelin’ well. Maybe he’s just catchin’ some bug that’s affectin’ that blond brain of his.”
Shaking his head, Starsky adamantly disagreed. “No, I don’t think so. There’s more to it than that. Somethin’ he’s not tellin’ me. He acts like he wants to say somethin’, but then BAM, like the flick of a light switch he clams up on me.”
“Maybe he’s just scared,” Huggy reasoned. “It’s not every day a man falls in love with his partner and best friend.”
“Well, if he’s scared, then why doesn’t he just tell me, so we can talk it out?” Starsky downed nearly the entire glass of beer in one gulp.
“Whoa, Tonto. Take it easy on the brewsky.” Huggy pulled the glass from Starsky’s hand. “I don’t know why he ain’t talkin’ to ya, but the answer ain’t in the bottom of that glass. I can tell you that for sure.”
Starsky shrugged off Huggy’s well-meaning advice, his mind focused on the matter at hand. “I love him, Hug. Love’s not supposed to hurt, is it?” He asked the question, not really expecting an answer.
“Naw, man, it shouldn’t hurt.” Huggy finished the rest of Starsky’s beer. “Not between the two of you anyway. That cupid guy was dead on when he pitched his arrow in your direction.”
Starsky emitted a halfhearted chuckle, though his mood remained somber. “I ain’t givin’ up on him,” he vowed with renewed vigor. “I’m gonna find out what’s goin’ on and what I have to do to get him back, no matter what it takes.”
Huggy’s lithe frame stiffened with admiration. “Now, you’re talkin’, Tonto.”
Starsky surveyed the untouched food and wine as he slipped from the booth. “Thanks for all this, Huggy. I’m sorry it went to waste.”
Huggy began gathering the dishes and utensils from the table. “Hey, no problem, my man.”
As Starsky swaggered toward the door, he called back over his shoulder, “Oh, and, Huggy? Don’t call me Tonto.”
“Sure thing, Kemosabe,” Huggy retorted with a wink.
~*~*~
Nighttime stretched on for what seemed like an eternity for Starsky. The events of the evening tormented him repeatedly, his mind reeling with the possible explanations for Hutch’s behavior. As he struggled with a way to save their relationship, he only could hope Hutch wasn’t struggling with a way to end it. The morning sunshine brought with it little warmth, an unusual cold snap chilling the air. Starsky briskly rubbed his hands together, both for warmth and to ease his frazzled nerves, as he waited for Hutch to appear from his apartment building.
As Hutch settled next to him, Starsky forced a wistful smile. “‘Mornin’,” he greeted reluctantly.
“‘Mornin’,” Hutch returned grimly, his attention focused on a line of cars across the street.
Starsky’s gaze trailed in the direction Hutch was looking. Noting nothing unusual, he attributed Hutch’s lack of attentiveness to the mindset his partner had exhibited the last three days. Still, he pressed for answers. “Hutch, about last night, I-”
Hutch jutted an open palm between them, never looking over. “Starsk, don’t, please. Just let it go, okay?”
Starsky tore from the curb, the bark of the Torino’s tires echoing his reaction to Hutch’s evasiveness. Only the occasional crackle of the radio broke the silence between the two men on the trek into Metro. The few feet separating them as they strolled across the parking garage might as well as have been ten miles. Starsky yearned for the simple touch of Hutch brushing against his shoulder as they walked side by side, but only the chill of the morning air enveloped him as his friend purposely trailed behind him in silence.
“You wanna cup of coffee?” Starsky asked across his desk. He rolled his chair backward across the floor and plucked the pot from under the coffee maker, his eyes bouncing between the steaming liquid and his partner.
“No, thanks,” was Hutch’s simple reply as he tapped at a series of keys on his typewriter.
Returning to his desk, Starsky exuded little interest in his paperwork, his attention instead focused on his partner. He shuffled a few papers, pretending to be engrossed in his work, while his focus shifted three feet away. The dark circles he saw shadowed on the fair skin under Hutch’s cornflower blue eyes was a telltale sign that he wasn’t the only one losing sleep over the tension hanging between them. Hutch’s features looked gaunt, the realization that he hadn’t seen his friend ingest much of anything the last few days lending weight to the assumption that neither one of them was dealing very well with the situation at hand, whatever the cause of it. The urge to reach across the mound of paperwork separating them was almost more than Starsky could forego. He crumpled a piece of paper, briskly tossing it in the trashcan next to their desk in an attempt to busy his hands, but suppressing the gesture did nothing to stop the words spilling from his lips.
He leaned toward Hutch and whispered, “Hutch, we need to talk.” His voice held a hint of desperation. “I can’t go on like this.”
The tapping of the typewriter keys stopped as Hutch peered back at his friend. “Starsky, don’t,” he pleaded. “Not here, not now.”
“Then when?” Starsky’s words were somewhat louder, drawing a few looks from the other officers. “You won’t talk to me in the car. You won’t let me come up to your apartment. I can’t even have dinner with you and give you a birthday present. So, when? When am I supposed to talk to you?”
“There’s nothing to say.” Hutch abruptly pushed his chair away from his desk and traipsed to the file cabinet, where he shuffled mindlessly through the folders in the top drawer.
Starsky knew Hutch was avoiding his questions, but he wasn’t deterred so easily. He stepped up behind his friend, blocking him from stepping backward. “There’s plenty to say,” he countered in Hutch’s ear. “And I’m gonna say it. It can be here, right now, or it can be at your place tonight, but one way or the other, I’m gonna find out what’s going on.”
Hutch whirled around, nearly chest to chest with Starsky, weary eyes emblazoned with fear. “No, you can’t come over!”
“Why not?” Starsky demanded, oblivious to the fact that they now had an audience. “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing!” Hutch replied adamantly, his chest heaving with every breath, eyes glaring with heated emotion. With an abrupt shove, he pushed Starsky out of his way and barreled toward the squadroom door.
Tuley hovered nearby and foolishly stepped into Hutch’s path. “Awww…whatsa matter, Hutchinson, you two lovebirds have a spat?” he taunted.
With teeth clenched in an uncontrollable rage, Hutch delivered a hard blow to Tuley’s cheekbone, hurling him across a nearby desk and onto the floor. He pounced on the stunned man with the fury of a jaguar downing its prey, drawing back a fist to deliver another staggering blow, his other fist wrapping around the girth of Tuley’s tie, nearly choking off the sputtering man’s air supply. “You son-of-a-bitch! I’ve had it!”
Starsky was there immediately, pulling Hutch from Tuley’s cowering body amidst a cluster of stunned co-workers.
“Get him off of me!” Tuley shrieked in a strangled breath.
“Hutch, c’mon, let him go!” Starsky urged, pulling Tuley’s tie from Hutch’s grip. “Let him go!”
Finally, with a hard shove of Tuley’s chest against the tiled floor, Hutch relinquished his chokehold and stepped away.
Tuley’s heels dug into the floor as he pushed away from his attacker, a trembling hand reaching up to dab at the blood near the corner of his eye. With the immediate danger passed, he delivered a warning, jutting an index finger in Hutch’s direction. “I’m pressing charges against you, Hutchinson! I’ll have your badge for this!”
“Be my guest!” Hutch acknowledged, reaching for the doorknob as he stepped over Tuley’s legs.
“Hutchinson! In my office!” Dobey bellowed from his office door.
Hutch froze, his extended handing dropping away from the door. His eyes briefly clenched shut before he slowly turned to face his captain, his lips parting in an effort to speak. “Captain, I-”
“Now, Hutchinson!” Dobey imparted brusquely.
Hutch’s back straightened as he swallowed hard and trudged toward Dobey’s office.
Starsky was at his side, reaching an arm to offer a reassuring squeeze to Hutch’s elbow as they stepped through the doorway.
Dobey shook his head and pushed a firm hand to Starsky’s chest, preventing him from proceeding any farther. “Just Hutchinson, Starsky.”
The door closed, placing a wall between them, something Dobey had never done before. Starsky felt as if his right arm had been cut off, torn from its socket without mercy. He paced ruthlessly outside the door, garnering the sympathy of everyone left in the squadroom. Tuley had stalked from the room in a huff, no doubt to lick his wounds and plan his retaliation. Scenarios of what was happening behind that door rushed through his mind, ravaging him with endless uncertainties and questions.
He didn’t have to wait long for those questions to be answered. The door heaved open and Hutch stalked out, never making eye contact with him. “Hutch, wait!” he called behind his partner, but Hutch kept going, holster dangling empty under his arm. Starsky’s heart stopped, acrid bile pushing up in the back of his throat, as he attempted to stop his friend from walking out on not only their relationship, but now their partnership. “Hutch!”
“Let him go, Starsky,” Dobey commanded in an authoritative but understanding tone. “Come into my office.”
Starsky heeded his captain’s request and stepped into the office, his knees threatening to buckle under him as he observed Hutch’s gun and badge on Dobey’s desk. “Oh, God,” he uttered, slumping into his usual chair, the one next to him heartbreakingly vacant.
Dobey sighed restlessly, his full lips thinning with regret. “I tried talking to him, but he wouldn’t listen. What the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know, Cap. It’s like I don’t even know him anymore.” Starsky tossed his hands in a helpless gesture. “He won’t talk to me. He won’t even see me outside of work. He’s become this total stranger practically overnight.” Fidgeting in his chair, he glanced at the door. “I have to go after him and make sure he’s okay.”
“No, that’s the last thing you should do,” Dobey assured. “Believe me, you don’t want to talk to him right now. He needs some space. I want you to escort a prisoner down from Santa Barbara this morning.” He picked up a piece of paper from his desk and scanned the small text. “An Albert Jamison. He’s an important witness for the state, so I need you to be on your toes in case there’s an attempt against his life. Maybe this will give Hutchinson some time to cool his heels.”
Starsky fervidly disagreed. “I can’t leave now, Cap. I have to find Hutch and make him realize he’s making the biggest mistake of his life. I have to.” He lurched from his chair and started toward the door.
“Bring the prisoner down, Starsky. That’s an order.” Dobey offered no room for negotiation.
“I can’t.” Starsky’s eyes pleaded for understanding.
Dobey nervously bit his lip, his large hand running through the tight curl of his hair. “I didn’t want to tell you this, Starsky, but you leave me no choice. He told me to tell you to leave him alone. He doesn’t want to see you. Period.”
Starsky’s shoulders rolled forward in pain, the crushing realization that Dobey had just hurled at him striking him squarely in the stomach. “He doesn’t want to see me at all?” The words were barely audible even in the dead silence of the room.
Dobey exhaled helplessly, turning his dark eyes away. “I’m sorry,” he replied. “I told Minnie to put the transport paperwork on your desk.”
Bouncing a clenched fist on his thigh, Starsky’s head dropped back, his eyes scanning the ceiling as if the solution to his torment lay mingled in the plaster. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way to Santa Barbara, then.”
“Hutchinson knows I’m sending you away for the day, so maybe that will give him the time he needs to think things through before he makes any final decisions,” Dobey added optimistically. “I’m going to talk to Tuley and see if I can persuade him not to file charges. I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thanks, Captain.” Starsky avoided looking back, hoping Dobey wouldn’t see the extent of the pain clouding his sight.
“Be careful,” Dobey added.
“Yeah,” Starsky answered dolefully, closing the door behind him.
~*~*~
Sand gathered in Hutch’s shoes as he strolled along the beachfront. The rush of waves pulled a brisk breeze from the wide expanse of ocean, stinging his cheeks and eyes with its chilly embrace. His hair whipped around his face as he knelt to pluck a seashell from the ground. Turning it over in his hand, he studied the blasé pattern etched in the smooth surface, its lackluster color most likely the reason it had been left behind by the morning beachcombers that consistently scoured the area. He pictured the jar of shells Starsky kept nestled on the shelf in his bathroom, several of which had been collected there along Venice Beach, when the two of them had taken long walks together, side by side, sharing a moment with simple words and the occasional stolen kiss. Brushing his thumb across the shell, Hutch looked back on those shared moments with no regret, even as the pain of their forced separation drained his soul, leaving him a shell of his former self, much like the shell he held in his hand-lifeless and barren. He drew his arm back and hurled the shell into the water, watching as it struck the surface with a resounding plop, wondering if it would ever wash ashore again, to be found by two lovers taking a morning walk, who would carry it home to add to their jar of memories just as he and Starsky had done so many times before but would never do so again.
Settling in the sand, Hutch propped his arms upon his knees, eyes transfixed on the endless horizon. He sat there for hours, unmoving, reliving the past, the good times. It was all he had. The sun moved in an arch above him, painting the sky in a rainbow of watercolors as it slipped into the ocean. A chill encompassed him, the setting sun taking the remaining heat with it, forcing him to return to his apartment.
Much to his surprise, Kendall was not outside waiting for him. His eyes scanned the street both ways, expecting to see the sedan trailing closely behind him, but only the occasional unfamiliar car streamed by. Breathing a cautious sigh of relief, Hutch trudged up to his apartment. He haplessly stood in the middle of the living room, contemplating what he should do next, where he should go. His first fear was that Starsky would attempt to see him after returning from his assignment. He was certain Kendall’s absence was only momentary. He couldn’t risk being accused of breaking their agreement again, giving Kendall reason to follow through on his threat, not when he was so close to being out of Starsky’s life forever. His head pounded mercilessly from the stress and tension of the day, clouding his thoughts, leaving him unable to think clearly or make a definite decision on where he would go. Glancing at his watch, the time was 5:35. He knew he still had a few hours before Starsky would return from Santa Barbara and process the required paperwork needed for transporting his prisoner. I’ll just rest my eyes for a few minutes, then I’ll pack, maybe head down to San Diego for a week or so, find a new place, a new job, start a new life. Starsky won’t think to look for me there. It’ll be easier that way-a clean break. I can always come back for the rest of my things later, once Starsky has moved on with his life.
Hutch stretched out on top of his bed, fully clothed, clutching a pillow to his chest, his burning eyes welcoming relief as his eyelids wearily closed. Won’t even take my shoes off. Just a few minutes is all I need. Just a few minutes….
~*~*~
Slapping Albert Jamison’s file closed, Starsky tossed a pen into a canister on the desk. “There. Signed, sealed, and delivered. All safe and sound,” he announced brusquely to the attending officer. “I’m outta here.” He immediately brushed aside the unwelcome task that had been placed upon him by his well-meaning captain and returned his focus to salvaging both his relationship and partnership with Hutch.
It was nearly 9:00 p.m. when he pulled up in front of Venice Place, his stomach inundated with butterflies as he spied the familiar LTD parked out front. “At least he’s home,” Starsky muttered under his breath while he strolled to the front steps.
Standing outside Hutch’s apartment door, Starsky exhaled deeply, and nervously flexed his hands at his sides before rapping lightly under the worn brass numbers on the wood panel. He waited for a response, impatiently tapping his fingers on his thighs, but the returned silence garnered the fear that he still wasn’t welcome. Guarded optimism that Hutch hadn’t heard the knock enticed him to knock again, this time louder.
“Hutch?” he called out, leaning into the framework surrounding the weathered door, hoping his voice would carry to the other side, but there was still no answer. Testing the doorknob, he surprisingly found it unlocked. As he eased the door open, one eye cautiously peeked through the small gap, scanning the area within his view. Hutch was nowhere in sight, leaving him with the urge to venture farther inside. He stepped quietly into the living room, where a quick scan of the small apartment found Hutch sound asleep on his bed, tightly curled around a pillow, eyelids rapidly flickering within the throes of a dream. His lips were pursed in a faint smile, his sleep peaceful, hinting that the dream was a pleasant one.
Starsky sat down next to him, the bed dipping slightly as he reached to caress Hutch’s back in a small circular motion. Raising the back of his hand to the quiescent face, he continued the tender strokes along the strong jawline, the light stubble protruding from the fair skin catching in the hairs on the back of his fingers.
“So perfect,” Starsky whispered with brimming admiration, smoothing the tousled strands of hair splayed against the pillowcase.
Hutch stirred slightly but didn’t awaken. “Mmmm…” he purred, squeezing the pillow tighter to his chest.
The gesture invited a kiss, and Starsky eagerly complied, leaning down to press his lips against the supple fullness of Hutch’s, pausing to revel in the warmth of that unison he had so desperately missed. The kiss trailed off in a series of light pecks along the bridge of Hutch’s nose, just as sleepy blue eyes fluttered open in response to the sensual touch.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Starsky greeted with a nervous smile, hoping his presence would be welcome.
Hutch rapidly blinked his eyes, while raising a hand to rub away the sleep still nestled in the corners. “Hey, yourself,” he returned groggily, licking at the slight dampness of his lips. Eyes drifting closed again, he shifted his head on the pillow, his face pivoting toward the clock perched on the bedside table. Suddenly, his eyes flashed open in panic and focused on the time-9:33. He jolted upright, nearly knocking Starsky onto the floor. “Oh, God! I overslept!” he shouted in distress, casting the pillow aside.
Starsky gently grasped Hutch’s shoulders in an attempt to calm him. “Hey, take it easy, Hutch. Calm down. You overslept for what?”
Hutch abruptly knocked Starsky’s hands away, recklessly running his hands through his hair, ignoring the question posed to him. “I have to leave. You have to leave, Starsk! Now! Get outta here!” he pleaded in a whirlwind of commands, as he attempted to roll from the bed.
Starsky grabbed Hutch’s wrists, pulling him back down on the bed to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so desperate to shut me out of your life?” His grip tightened as Hutch fought to pull free.
“Let go of me!” Hutch demanded, chest heaving with the ferocity of his struggle. The heels of his shoes dug into the mattress, rumpling the bedspread in a heap at the foot of the bed as he wrestled to push away. “You have to leave!” he repeated.
“Not until you explain to me what’s going on!” Starsky vehemently dueled for control of the situation. As Hutch gained the edge on escaping from his grip, he was left with little recourse but to straddle his friend at waist level, pushing Hutch’s wrists into the mattress as those long legs continued to flail frantically behind him.
Starsky adeptly pulled Hutch’s right wrist under his left knee, pinning it there while he jerked his handcuffs from his rear pocket and cinched one around Hutch’s left wrist, running it through the brass spindles of the headboard, before securing the other wrist, effectively cuffing his struggling partner to the bed.
Hutch’s body arched and twisted, his head pushing into the pillow as he focused on the metal binding his wrists, determined to free himself. “No! Take these off, Starsk!” he pleaded as he jerked wildly against the cold metal, paying little heed to the abrasions forming on his wrists.
Retaining his position, Starsky steadied Hutch’s head between his hands and stared into the terrified face of his friend. “Hutch, you have to calm down. You’re gonna make your wrists bleed. Now, calm down.”
Fear spawning anger, Hutch wrenched his head from Starsky’s hands. “Damn it, Starsky! Take these off! I mean it!” His posture was rigid, arms taut against the cuffs, fists clenched with fury. “Take these off and get out! Get out of my life!”
“No,” Starsky replied in calm defiance as he masked the gut-wrenching effect of Hutch’s words. “You owe me an explanation. You’re not tellin’ me somethin’. I look into your eyes and see one thing, but you tell me something else.” His hand reached to cup Hutch’s jaw, cradling it the open expanse of his palm, his other hand mirroring the caress on the other side of the fair-skinned face.
“Don’t do this, Starsk.” Hutch’s anger subsided as he slowly shook his head, his words heeding a stern warning. “Just get out…please,” he uttered as his head lulled to the side. Ignoring his partner’s pleas, Starsky turned Hutch’s face to meet his once more. “You said you get tired of all the comments about us. So, you think this was all a mistake-the two of us? Is that what you’ve been tryin’ to tell me?” he pressed, dreading the answer he was seeking.
Hutch nodded once as his jaws tightened, barely allowing his answer to be heard through clenched teeth. “Yes.”
Starsky swallowed hard, the reply slamming into him with the force of an avalanche, smothering him under twenty feet of cold death. Still, he reached beyond the crushing words, the fighter in him refusing to succumb without a battle. “Fine,” he responded sharply. “But I wanna hear you say it.” He shifted his weight directly over Hutch’s hips and leaned forward onto his elbows. “Tell me you don’t love me, so I can let this go.”
“For God’s sake, please don’t do this,” Hutch implored frantically, closing his eyes.
Steadying Hutch’s head between his hands, Starsky leaned closer, the warmth of his breath carrying his words within an inch of Hutch’s mouth. “Tell me, Hutch. Say it.” His taunting mouth slid over the surface of Hutch’s lips in a velvet caress, not quite kissing, not quite touching. “Tell me you don’t love me.”
Hutch’s lips parted slightly in helpless response, before he attempted to jerk away. “Don’t!” he begged.
Starsky tightened his grip on Hutch’s head and pressed a gentle but forceful kiss upon the tense lips, the length of his body stretching to cover his defiant lover’s from head to toe, hips gently moving against the fullness of Hutch’s jeans. The clamor of metal against brass reverberated throughout the room as he felt Hutch struggle rebelliously under his weight. He pressed his tongue into the unwilling mouth, tasting Hutch’s desperation, seeking acceptance where he found rejection. The noise and struggle ceased, Hutch’s body surrendering to his impassioned assault with total compliance, their bodies melding together like the pieces of a well-worn jigsaw puzzle as Hutch hungrily accepted the kiss, long legs inching apart, hips bucking upward to dispel every inch of space between them.
“Oh, God, Starsky, I do love you,” Hutch spouted in a panted breath. “When I said I got tired of all the comments, it was only because I wanted to shove their words down their throats and tell them how much I love you, not because I thought it was all a mistake.”
“Really?” Starsky asked incredulously, tilting Hutch’s face to peer deeper into his eyes, seeking affirmation of his confession. “You still love me?”
Hutch managed a succinct nod within the grip of Starsky’s palms. “I never stopped.”
Starsky bombarded Hutch with a flurry of kisses, careful to cover nearly every square inch of the fair-skinned face.
“No-wait-you’re-not-listening,” Hutch forced out through the interspersed nips and kisses. “You still have to go. Now.”
Starsky abruptly sat up and leaned back on the heels of his Adidas sneakers, as if a bucket of ice water had been callously dumped on him. “Why?” he demanded harshly.
“I can’t tell you.” Hutch’s rigid posture had returned, his fists clenched against the metal binding his wrists. He glanced at the clock once more. “Please, just go.”
“I don’t understand this, Hutch. Why can’t you tell me?” Starsky implored, words strained with emotion.
“I just can’t,” was Hutch’s curt reply. “Please, don’t keep asking me.” Studying Hutch intently, Starsky looked beyond the trepidation mirrored in the blue eyes, searching deeper for the answers he needed. His mind reeled with the events of the previous days, as he tried to figure out where things had changed. He was pulled back to the morning three days ago, when Hutch’s odd behavior started.
Wagging a finger at Hutch, his eyes narrowed in thought. “This all started the other morning when I brought you breakfast before work.” His head whirled around, eyes focusing on the drawer where Hutch had hid the mysterious item from his view. “You were hiding something then.” He bolted from the bed toward the kitchen, where he jerked open the drawer harboring the secret object.
Hutch struggled fiercely against the handcuffs, legs thrashing in every direction. “Damn it, Starsky! NO! Stay out of there!”
Clutching the pictures in his hand, Starsky wildly flipped through the images, shock and disbelief evident on his face. “These are pictures of us, the other day. How the hell? Who took these?” He stormed back toward Hutch, slapping the telltale photos against his free hand. “Who took these?” he asked again, a myriad of explanations clouding his mind.
His taut body crumpling against the mattress, Hutch rolled to his side, pulling his knees to his chest, fingers cinching around the brass spindles of the headboard as he buried his face in the pillow. “Oh, God, Starsk. I’m so sorry. I never meant for this to happen,” he confessed, words barely audible through the crumpled pillowcase. “I had no choice.”
It took mere seconds for Starsky to piece together what was taking place. “You’re being blackmailed, aren’t you?” Placing the photos on the nightstand, he sat down on the bed, anger subsiding in light of his friend’s obvious torment, and cupped a reassuring hand over Hutch’s shoulder, nudging his friend back to face him. “Hutch, answer me.”
Blond lashes blinked over reddened eyes as Hutch slowly nodded in response. His head jutted up from the pillow, the slow nod replaced by a desperate shake of his head. “I never meant to hurt you. I didn’t. He was gonna send these to Dobey and IA. I couldn’t let that happen to you. I just couldn’t!”
Starsky swept his hand across Hutch’s forehead, nestling a stray strand of hair gently behind Hutch’s ear. “It’s okay,” he assured in a soothing tone. “Lay back. C’mon, lay back and relax.” He cupped the nape of Hutch’s neck in the palm of his hand and eased his friend back against the pillow. “Now, you just gotta slow down and tell me who did this to you.”
Hutch emitted a deep breath as he was lowered against the soft pillow, but he didn’t respond, his head turning away from the questioning eyes of his partner.
Tucking a single finger under Hutch’s chin, Starsky gently turned the solemn face back to meet his own. “Hey, this is me you’re talking to. Starsk. Remember? You can tell me anything.”
Hutch nervously bit at the corner of his lip, slowly pushing himself up to a sitting position, knees tucked against his chest, forehead resting against his cuffed hands. “H-his name’s William Kendall,” he relented quietly, while still avoiding direct eye contact with Starsky.
Starsky’s mind immediately went to work, mentally searching the files of past cases. “Kendall, Kendall,” he repeated. “The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“No, you don’t know him,” Hutch confirmed with an astute shake of his head that rippled to his toes.
“So, who is he?” Starsky asked gently. “Hutch, tell me.” An uneasiness settled in the pit of his stomach at the hesitation in answering him, a feeling that rapidly progressed to fear and alarm as Hutch began to tremble uncontrollably, eyes clenching shut as his breaths came in short gasps. The comforting hand he offered was met with resistance, Hutch recoiling from the touch, long limbs drawn protectively into a fetal position. “Hey, take it easy, babe. It’s okay.” He eased closer on the bed, while still allowing several inches of space to remain between them, hoping to placate, but not crowd, his friend. “You can tell me.”
Hutch’s eyes remained closed, his head slowly rocking side to side against the cradle of his hands. “I-I never wanted to do those things,” he whispered in a strained voice. “I didn’t. He made me. I hated it. I hated every minute of him touching me, of him, of him…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. “I had to. I just couldn’t get a bad grade, not when I didn’t deserve it. My father, h-he’d never stand for his son being a failure in school.”
He finally opened his eyes and faced Starsky, a solitary tear streaming down his cheek. “Don’t you see, Starsk? I had to.” Once more, he tore his gaze away, leaning his head against the brass headboard, staring blankly at the wall. “I-I couldn’t do it anymore. No more. I ran out of that room, that dark room with the books. I hated that room. That’s why I got an F, not because I was stupid, not because I was a failure. Father never believed me.” He lightly touched the cheek where his father had struck him that night, and outwardly flinched, even though the bruise had healed years ago. “My mother, sh-she knew, but she didn’t help me. Why didn’t she help me?” He briefly looked at Starsky, then turned away, not waiting for a reply. “She just closed the door. She just closed it and left me alone.” The room filled with silence as he struggled to find the words to continue. “I had to go back to school and tell Kendall I was sorry, that I made it all up because of my grade. Nothing more was done. But it wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t.” He quickly brushed the side of his face against the sleeve of his shirt, drying another tear that threatened to spill down his cheek, as he turned in Starsky’s direction, fear and uncertainty reflected on his pallid face. “Starsk, you believe me, don’t you?”
“Dear God.” Starsky could barely breathe, his pounding heart sapping the strength and oxygen from his body. He blinked away the moisture rimming his eyes and swallowed the knot choking his airway. “Yeah, yeah, babe, I believe you,” he uttered with conviction as he stared at the trembling figure before him. For a brief moment, he saw the face of a terrified child huddling at the head of that bed, eyes wide with trepidation and hurt, betrayed by those who were supposed to protect him, searching for someone to listen, to help, to believe.
“You do?” Hutch’s eyebrows arched in surprise, a hint of a smile visible at the corners of his mouth.
Gently wrapping his arms around the width of Hutch’s shoulders, Starsky offered a gentle and assuring embrace, careful to keep his inner turmoil in check. “You better believe I do,” he pledged with certainty.
Nodding one time, Hutch leaned into the warmth of Starsky’s chest, a deep breath escaping him. “I-I knew you would.”
Starsky pulled Hutch tighter, arms and legs wrapped around the trembling body in a protective cocoon, the intensity of his embrace offering a haven he hoped would shut out the hurt and pain. But the tenderness he displayed was a stark contrast to the inner rage building within him. What that monster did to Hutch was beyond comprehension, his parent’s denial and refusal to get involved just as appalling. Pressing a kiss into the crown of Hutch’s head, he gently pushed for the answers he needed to put an end to this nightmare. “But why is he back, Hutch? Why is he blackmailing you?”
Hutch leaned up slightly, initiating a loud clink from the handcuffs around his wrists. “The principal had his suspicions about Kendall, but since I recanted my story, he had nothing to go on, but he made sure Kendall never worked in the school corporation again. Things went downhill for him from there. He lost his job; his wife divorced him and came out here to California with their son. His son was murdered a few weeks ago, and I guess that was the final straw for him. He blamed me for everything that had gone wrong in his life and wanted to seek his revenge by taking away everything that was important to me¾my job and-and you…” His words trailed off as he leaned into the arms still embracing him. “I never meant to hurt you. He said if I didn’t leave you and quit my job within a week, he’d mail the photos. He followed me everywhere, always there when I got home, always there around the next corner. I had no choice but to push you out of my life. I thought if I made you hate me, it’d be easier for you.”
Starsky sighed in exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me? We could’ve nailed this bastard together.”
“I couldn’t. He made arrangements for duplicate sets of the photos to be mailed if something were to happen to him-a set to IA and a set to Dobey. You could’ve lost your job. If you were allowed to stay, I knew you’d be the butt of endless jokes and taunts. I saw how Tuley upset you. I could never let that happen.” Hutch brushed a thumb across the soft ribbing of Starsky’s turtleneck. “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I was responsible for you losing everything you’d worked for.”
Starsky rubbed his hand tenderly over Hutch’s upper arm. “I don’t care if Dobey dressed me up in a clown suit and had me directin’ circus elephants, as long as I had you, I wouldn’t care.”
“Yeah, well, that may just happen,” Hutch answered somberly. “I’m sure Kendall knows you’re here by now. He parks down in front of the building, watching to make sure I don’t let you come up.”
Gently releasing Hutch from his embrace, Starsky darted to the window, inching the curtain away from the wall. “What kind of car?” he asked cautiously, eyes scanning the street below.
“Dark blue sedan, late model,” Hutch replied.
“He’s not there.” Starsky’s disappointment was obvious. He let the curtain fall back into place and turned to face Hutch.
Hutch’s face brightened, his returning desperation obvious as his eyes darted nervously around the room. “Then, there’s still time. You have to go. He’ll never know you’ve been here. You’ll still be safe. You don’t realize what’s going to happen to your career if those pictures get out. Please, Starsk, take these off and go,” he rambled, giving a sharp tug at the handcuffs.
“My career? Do you really think I care about my career if it means losing you?” Starsky paused to contemplate how this would affect Hutch as well. “What about you? My job isn’t the only one to consider. Is it worth it, Hutch? Losing what we have between us to keep those pictures from getting out? Are you really ready to give that up?”
“No. No, I’m not,” Hutch stated with conviction. “I’m just trying to protect you, that’s all.”
“Protect me? Protect me from what? A pedophile with a penchant for blackmail?” Starsky countered. “He’s not gonna get away with this.” He pulled his Beretta from its holster and checked the clip before shoving it succinctly back in place. “I’m going after him. Do you know where he’s staying?”
Hutch didn’t reply, his lips pursed tightly together.
Starsky sighed with frustration. “If I have to turn over every square inch of this city, I’m gonna find this creep with or without your help. Now, where is he staying?”
“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Hutch conceded with obvious reluctance, posture straightening, fingers clasped tightly together, though it did little to quiet the clinking of the handcuffs around his trembling hands. “But were doin’ this together.” He tugged at the handcuffs again. “Now, take these off,” he demanded.
Starsky sauntered to the bed and sat down next to his friend. Fishing the key from his jacket pocket, he reached to unlock the handcuffs. “Where’s he staying?” he asked as he placed the key in the lock.
“Sunset Motel, just down the road.” Hutch jerked at the cuffs, but the metal didn’t give.
Returning the key to his pocket, Starsky placed a kiss on Hutch’s forehead and stepped away from the bed, leaving Hutch still cuffed to the headboard. “I’m sorry, babe. I have to do this alone. You’re in no shape to face him. I won’t take a chance on losing you again. This bastard is all mine.”
Hutch was livid. “Damn it, Starsky! You’re not leavin’ here without me.” He jerked furiously at the cuffs. Deep abrasions formed around his wrists as the metal dug deeper into his tender skin. “I mean it!”
Retrieving a warm washcloth from the bathroom, Starsky returned to Hutch’s side and wiped the dried tears from the flushed skin of his friend. “I’ll be fine. I just want you to stay here where you’re safe. That’s all, okay?”
A deep sigh escaped Hutch as he leaned his head against the railing of the headboard. “Starsk, I don’t want you confronting him alone. I can handle this. I’m okay.” The handcuffs clinked loudly against the metal as a shiver wracked his body.
Starsky tossed the washcloth next to the pictures on the nightstand and placed a loving kiss on the bridge of Hutch’s nose before draping the bedspread over the still-trembling body. “Yeah, sure, you’re okay, which is why this whole bed is shaking like a seven on the Richter scale. This won’t take long. I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Managing one last “I love you” over Hutch’s continued pleas to free him, Starsky strolled briskly from the apartment, carefully locking the door behind him, determined to bring Kendall to justice for what he had done.
~*~*~
Sinking back against the pillow, Hutch gave a futile tug at the handcuffs once again, fear and dread encompassing him at the thought of Starsky facing Kendall alone, terrified of what the encounter may bring. Even though Starsky had the element of surprise on his side, it offered him little consolation. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his friend, partner, lover. He stared bleakly at the clock, watching as each second ticked by at an agonizing pace, spending that time hoping Kendall would surrender without incident, hoping Starsky would keep his anger under control and not do anything he would later regret as he confronted the man who almost cost them everything.
After only a few minutes had passed, he heard the key turn in the lock of his apartment door, sending his heart racing. He hoped Starsky had reconsidered leaving him behind.
~*~*~
Starsky clenched the Torino’s steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip as he scoured the dimly lit parking lot of the Sunset Motel, looking for a car matching the description of the one Kendall was driving. He spotted the dark blue sedan in the far corner of the lot, next to an overflowing dumpster. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, knowing he was so close to nabbing the creep that had inflicted such unspeakable horrors on Hutch. With no way of knowing what room Kendall was staying in, he slammed the Torino into park, hurried into the small lobby of the motel, and approached the desk clerk. His words were to the point.
“Kendall. William Kendall. What room is he in?” he asked a mousy-looking man engrossed in a Playboy magazine behind the counter.
The man didn’t look up as he turned the magazine at an angle to gape at the centerfold spread. “Don’t give out room numbers, Mister,” was the curt reply.
“Well, this says you do,” Starsky retorted, tossing his badge on the counter.
With a sigh of disgust, the man pulled his gaze from the magazine and examined Starsky’s identification. “Still can’t help you.” He snapped the magazine open again and returned his attention to the naked blond splayed on page forty-three.
Starsky jerked the magazine from the man’s hand, ripping several pages from the binding before disposing of the entire thing in the trashcan at the side of the counter. “Look, my patience is wearing thin,” he growled as he leaned closer to the startled man. “Now, you’d better start talkin’, or I’m gonna see how much of your lean physique I can get stuffed into that trashcan along with Miss February, there. Got it?”
The man swallowed hard, nervous eyes darting between Starsky and the offending trashcan. “I-I don’t want any trouble, Mister. I just can’t give you the room number, because M-Mr. Kendall checked out a few hours ago.”
“Then why is his car still outside?” Starsky asked, eyeing the cowering man suspiciously.
“I don’t know. He took a cab. I called it for him.” The man held up his hand in a mock Scout’s-honor gesture. “Honest.”
“He’s not here, then, you’re sure?” Starsky slammed his fist on the counter, demanding affirmation of the situation.
“I’m sure. Saw him get in the cab myself. He was a strange one, definitely not firing on all cylinders. He was supposed to stay for a few more days, but all of a sudden, he said he had to leave.”
“Did he say where he was headin’?” Starsky asked anxiously.
With an astute shake of his head, the man replied, “Nope.” He paused, lightly tapping his finger on his thin lips. “Though, he did say he had to take care of something before he left town. I think he mumbled something like, ‘I gotta take care of something once and for all.’ He kinda had a crazed look in his eyes. Can’t say I was sorry to see him go.”
Starsky’s heart pounded in his throat, the startling realization that he could have left Hutch a sitting duck seizing him with immeasurable fear. “Oh, no. God, no,” he uttered as he bolted from the lobby.
~*~*~
“Starsk?” Hutch called out, leaning forward as far as the handcuffs would allow, in an attempt to see around the small partition separating the bedroom from the living room. “I’m glad you decided to come back.” He heard the slow pace of footsteps shuffling near the entryway to the bathroom moving toward him, but there was no reply. Uneasiness surged through him, the lack of response unlike his partner. “Starsky!” he called again in a sharp tone.
Kendall peered around the small partition, clutching a pistol tightly in his hand. A smile curled the corner of his lips as his eyes fell upon his former student handcuffed to the bed. “Well, well, well. What have we here?” he taunted menacingly. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into quite a predicament, Kenneth. How convenient.”
An ominous laugh escaped him as he held up the key normally perched above the doorframe outside Hutch’s apartment door. “You know, you really shouldn’t leave a key outside your door. You never know who just might walk in.” Tucking the key in his jacket pocket, he sauntered closer to the bed. “I told you I’d been watching you for quite a while. Don’t worry. I’ll put it back when I leave,” he added sarcastically, patting the key through the worn fabric of his jacket.
Hutch sat up against the headboard, his posture straight, eyes riveted on Kendall. “Get out of here, now, you sick bastard,” he warned through clenched teeth.
Waving the gun recklessly in Hutch’s direction, Kendall shook his head in dismay. “You didn’t abide by my wishes, Kenneth. I’ve been watching you all evening. I took a cab here from the motel, because I wanted to see what you’d do if you thought I wasn’t around. You know the old saying, ‘while the cat’s away the mice will play,’ and play you did. I saw Starsky come up. He was here for quite some time, too.”
“I didn’t invite him here. He came in while I was sleeping,” Hutch stated emphatically.
“Oh, sure he did.” Kendall’s gaze trailed to the stack of photos on the nightstand then back to Hutch, fury igniting his hazel eyes. “You told him, didn’t you?”
“No!” Hutch repeatedly shook his head. “He figured it out on his own after he found the pictures. I-I tried to get him to leave. I tried to leave myself. That’s when he…” Hutch tugged at the cuffs around his wrists.
“Cuffed you to the bed?” Kendall finished for him with a smirk. “And here I thought you were into some sordid kink.”
“Go to hell, you bastard,” Hutch hissed vehemently.
Kendall stormed toward him, pushing the gun barrel to Hutch’s forehead. “I warned you. I gave you every chance. Now, you have to pay.”
Hutch didn’t move, didn’t breathe, the cold steel jutting into his skin a terrifying reality of the bullet that could follow, shattering his skull, killing him instantly without another moment’s thought. He couldn’t let that happen, knowing there would be nothing stopping Kendall from imposing the same fate on Starsky. Suddenly, the pressure against his forehead was removed as Kendall sat down next to him, moving the barrel of the gun to his cheekbone instead.
Kendall perched a pillow behind his back, making himself comfortable in the spot next to Hutch. With his free hand, he retrieved the stack of pictures from the nightstand and studied the photo on top, careful to keep his gun trained against the side of Hutch’s face. “Let me guess,” he pondered. “Starsky knows all about me, so, right at this moment, he’s out trying to find me and seek his revenge. Since I already checked out of the Sunset, I won’t be where you told him I’d be. I bet he’s on his way back here right now.” He callously tossed the pictures aside and reached into his coat pocket, producing a silencer for the barrel of his gun. “What do you say we wait for him?” he goaded, pulling the gun away long enough to screw the silencer onto the end, before pressing it back into the indention marring the skin on Hutch’s face. “I’m sure he won’t want to miss the party.”
“Please, don’t hurt him,” Hutch implored. “Your grudge is with me, not him.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong,” Kendall corrected, the odd tilt of his head returning. “My grudge is with him, too. You see, he’s your happiness, so I have to destroy that happiness, just like you destroyed mine.”
“For God’s sake, Kendall, I’m begging you,” Hutch pleaded in desperation.
A sordid laugh spilled from Kendall’s lips. “Begging me won’t do any good. My compassion was dispelled when I buried my son. It’s your turn to hurt, to lose what’s most important to you, just like I did. I realized it’s not enough for you to leave him. Starsky has to die, just like Robby did.” His words flowed with ease, calm and unbroken. “Then, you will die, too.”
Hutch’s heart pounded in his chest, the roar of blood pushing through his vessels nearly deafening. There was nothing he could do; words, his only means of diffusing the situation. “Please, it doesn’t have to end like this. I can get you help, someone to talk to. You can’t hold me responsible for what happened to Robby. It was a senseless crime,” he reasoned in desperation.
“Yes, I can hold you responsible! It is your fault! Melinda never would’ve left me if you had kept your mouth shut. Robby would still be alive!” Kendall pushed the gun barrel farther into the cleft under Hutch’s cheekbone, enraged with fury. “You shouldn’t have told Principal Anderson! You shouldn’t have told your father! Things were fine the way they were!”
“No, they weren’t! Not for me!” Hutch spouted, his anger seeping through the emotions he vainly tried to suppress.
“Why? Was it really so bad?” Kendall posed, his anger ceasing with unnatural ease. Slipping his hand under the edge of Hutch’s shirt, eyes closed in concentration, he whispered suggestively. “Was it? Remember how I touched you? Remember how good it felt?”
Hutch’s body tensed at the sickening touch, Kendall stroking the smooth ripples of his chest and stomach just as he had done in that dark room with the books, years ago. He impulsively jerked away, the handcuffs allowing him to move only inches. “Don’t!” he screamed, intent on someone hearing him, anything to draw attention to the situation in hopes of warning Starsky. “Leave me alone!”
Kendall reacted quickly, stuffing the discarded washcloth in Hutch’s mouth, effectively gagging him. “Shhhh…” he soothed with an eerie tranquility, his free hand moving to the thick denim material of Hutch’s jeans, easing the zipper down, allowing his fingers to snake inside, stroking and touching. “Mmmm…you’re all grown up now, Kenneth. You still feel good, even after all these years. You must keep quiet, though. This is our secret, remember?”
A muffled cry escaped Hutch as Kendall’s vile touch caressed his flaccid cock, those daunting words hissed in his ear, propelling him back to that classroom where those same words had been spoken. Their secret, their dirty dark secret. He sputtered around the cloth stuffed in his mouth, forcing down the bile that threatened to choke off his airway. Suddenly, his own survival became insignificant, the sound of a key hurriedly forced in the lock announcing Starsky’s return.
Kendall jerked his hand away and pressed the gun to Hutch’s temple. “Ready to watch your lover die?” he hissed. Hutch momentarily squeezed his eyes closed, forcing a tear down his cheek.
Starsky stormed in, gun drawn. “Hutch!” he called out, bounding around the small partition. His jaw dropped in horror as he came face to face with Hell. “Oh, God,” he whispered, eyes trailing from Hutch’s open pants to the gun barrel pressed unforgivably to the stark white face. “Put the gun down, Detective Starsky,” Kendall warned, the tight grip on the weapon trained at Hutch’s head demanding compliance with his wishes.
Hutch fervently shook his head, gasping for breath around the washcloth compromising his oxygen supply. Kendall surprisingly pulled the cloth from his mouth, allowing him to speak. “D-don’t do it, Starsk,” he pleaded through short gasps as he struggled to catch his breath. “He-he’s crazy.”
Kendall cackled heartily. “Crazy, huh? We’ll see how crazy I get if your partner doesn’t do as I say.” He ruthlessly shoved the gun into Hutch’s mouth, blood spilling around the steel barrel.
“Wait!” Starsky implored, easing his finger off the trigger of his gun. “You want my gun? Take it. Just don’t hurt him.” Holding the gun in front of him in an unthreatening manner, he slowly bent over and placed the weapon on the floor at his feet. “There. Now, just take the gun out of his mouth, okay? Take it out slowly. We can talk about this.” He kept his hands carefully splayed at his side, palms open, a reassurance that he posed no danger to Kendall.
“Yeah, sure, Starsky. I can do that.” In one swift movement, he yanked the gun from Hutch’s mouth. Aiming it at Starsky, his index finger squeezed the trigger without hesitation. The muffled thump of the bullet forced through the silencer reverberated in the small room as it found its target, squarely in the middle of Starsky’s chest.
“NOOOOO!” Hutch bellowed as he watched Starsky propelled backward by the force of the bullet, his body falling in a sickening thud just on the other side of the small partition. Only the familiar worn Adidas sneakers could be seen from Hutch’s viewpoint, still and unmoving. “Oh, God, no! No! No!” he screamed repeatedly, fighting against the cuffs, blood streaming from his wrists and mouth. “Starsky! No, God, no! Please! Starsky! Answer me!” His pleas went unanswered, Starsky remaining motionless. In his heart, he knew no one could have survived such a point-blank shot in the chest. “Starsky!” he screamed again.
“Shut up!” Kendall warned.
“You son-of-a-bitch! You killed him!” Hutch kicked and flailed his body, undaunted by the gun Kendall still held in his grip.
“Well, I told you I was going to,” Kendall stated matter-of-factly, a simple shrug of his shoulders accompanying his repeated dodges at the kicks aimed at him.
Hutch kicked again, this time catching Kendall in the groin.
Kendall howled in pain, fury igniting his actions. Straddling Hutch, he drew his hand back, delivering a blow across the already bloodied mouth, before pressing the gun to Hutch’s forehead once again. “Your turn to die, Kenneth!” he seethed.
Tears flowed from Hutch’s eyes. Blood streamed from his bruised mouth and wrists. “Do it,” he whispered, his struggles ceasing.
“What?” Kendall asked with surprise.
There were no pleas for mercy, no attempts to stall the inevitable. “Pull the trigger,” Hutch stated calmly. He had no reason to live, his life lying in the crumpled body on the floor.
Kendall tilted his head in astonishment. “What did you say?”
“I said pull the trigger,” Hutch repeated, his gaze fixated on Kendall’s, hatred pooling in the tears rimming his eyes. “You got what you wanted, now finish it.” Anger seized him as Kendall eased up on the gun. “Do it!” he demanded. “Goddamn you! Pull the trigger!”
“Drop it, Kendall,” a voice called from behind.
Kendall whirled around, shock and disbelief evident on his face as he met Starsky’s cold stare. He aimed his gun, intending to fire again, but Starsky was too quick for him.
Starsky took aim, delivering a fatal shot that left Kendall in a heap on the floor, eyes fixated on nothingness as he took his last breath. Hurrying to Hutch’s side, Starsky raised a trembling hand to the battered face. “Hutch? Hutch? Are you okay?”
“Starsk?” Hutch muttered, trying to focus on the apparition before him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
Starsky smiled, choking back his emotions. “I’m okay, babe.” He tapped at the bulletproof vest visible through the dime-sized hole in his turtleneck, wincing at the tender spot left by the impact of the bullet. “See? Bulletproof vest. Without you at my back, I had to have somethin’ to protect myself. Had it in my car from bringin’ Jamison down from Santa Barbara. I’m fine. It just stunned me a little, that’s all.”
Hutch blinked away the salt and tears stinging his eyes. “You’re-you’re okay?” he asked in disbelief.
Starsky was already reaching to free Hutch’s mangled wrists from the handcuffs. “I’m okay,” he assured. “It’s you I’m worried about.” As Hutch’s hands fell to the bed, he gathered his friend within his arms, pulling him close. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I’m so, so sorry. I never should’ve left you like that.”
Hutch stared at Starsky in an almost trance-like state, the words not getting through to him. Reaching a trembling hand to the solemn face, he ran his fingertips over the familiar lips, stroking them gently, seeking the warmth that would assure him he hadn’t joined his friend on the other side. A faint smile appeared through the drying blood and cuts as reality took hold, and he realized his partner, vibrant and alive, really held him in a loving embrace.
“You’re okay.” This time, his words were a statement, not a question. His hand moved to the nape of Starsky’s neck as he pulled him closer, fingers intertwining in the mussed brunet curls. “Oh, God, Starsky. You’re alive. You’re really alive.” His grip tightened. “Don’t let me go. Please, don’t ever let me go.”
“I’m here, Hutch. I’m not going anywhere, but I want you to look at me.” Starsky eased the ironclad grip from his neck. “C’mon, look at me. I have to know if you’re okay. Just let me look at you, all right?”
With great hesitation, Hutch relented, letting Starsky check him over, his eyes never leaving the concerned face, fearful his friend wouldn’t be there if he looked away for a mere second.
“We gotta get you to a hospital and get those wrists and your mouth looked at,” Starsky urged. He gingerly zipped Hutch’s pants, pausing slightly before asking, “He didn’t hurt you any other way, did he?” The insinuation of his words was clear. With a quick shake of his head, Hutch replied firmly, “No, I’m fine.”
“Thank God,” Starsky spouted aloud with an exasperated sigh of relief. “I still want you to go to the hospital, though.”
Hutch’s eyes trailed to the hole in the middle of the turtleneck covering Starsky’s chest, a cautious hand reaching out to touch it, still terrified he would find blood. As he touched the protective vest through the marred clothing, he ushered a guarded sigh of relief. Still, there was concern. “I’ll go, but only if you go, too. That bullet hit you squarely in your chest. I want you checked out.”
“Deal, partner.” Starsky gave Hutch a gentle hug. He glanced at the still form lying on the floor as the clamor of sirens sounded from the street below. “Guess the neighbors called the cops. You know we’re gonna have some explainin’ to do.”
Hutch gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I know,” he replied quietly, leaning back to stare into the swirling blue depths peering back at him. “Look, Starsk, I don’t know what’s gonna happen from here on out, but I hope you can forgive me for bringing you into this.”
“Forgive you?” Starsky eyes misted over, as he pulled Hutch into his arms once again, chin balanced on a tangle of blond hair. “There’s nothing to forgive. Only good can come out of my love for you, nothing bad, only good. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I wouldn’t change one minute of my life with you, not one minute, not one second. ‘Kay?”
Hutch reveled in the warmth and security the embrace and words offered. “Yeah,” he agreed, a tear trickling down his bloodstained cheek. “Get rid of those pictures, okay?”
“You betcha.” As the sound of footsteps came from the stairs outside Hutch’s apartment door, Starsky grabbed the photos from the nightstand and stuffed them between the mattress and box springs.
“Police, open up!” shouted an officer. “Starsky! Hutchinson! You okay?”
Both men knew the future was uncertain for them, but they didn’t care.
“I love you, Starsk.”
“I love you, too, Hutch.”
Starsky pressed a kiss to Hutch’s forehead, before gently releasing him and heading for the door.
~*~*~
“Starsk, you okay? How’s your chest? Any broken ribs? How about bruising?” Hutch lurched from the chair where he had been waiting, nervously running his hands across his thighs as he darted toward his friend. His own examination had finished nearly twenty minutes sooner, though to him it had seemed liked hours. Heavy white bandages adorned his wrists, his lips swollen and bruised, but his concern was not for his own injuries as his nearly frantic tone of voice for Starsky’s well-being proved. “What took so long, huh?”
“Hutch, take it easy, okay?” Starsky assured. “I’m fine. I told you I was. The doc said I would be sore for a couple of days, but that’s all.” His hand reached to lightly touch the bandage around one of Hutch’s wrists. “I’m so sorry I did this to you. Are you okay?”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do this to me. Kendall did. Remember that.” Hutch gently wagged a finger in front of Starsky’s face, his expression stern before it softened with a sigh of relief. “Thank God, you’re okay. I never would’ve forgiven myself if he had-”
“Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson?” a uniformed officer interrupted. “I have some questions I need to ask you.”
~*~*~
Hutch had no choice but to divulge the details of the abuse he had suffered at the hands of William Kendall at Morgan Park Middle School, but he mentioned nothing about being blackmailed or the photos he had been threatened with. He told the authorities Kendall had sought his revenge after Robby’s murder, blaming him for the downward spiral of his life, sufficient reason for the attempt against his life, as well as Starsky’s. No further explanation was needed. Still, there was the underlying fear that the duplicate photos would end up in Dobey’s and Simonetti’s hands as Kendall had promised if something were to happen to him. But it had been nearly a week since the ordeal, and nothing had shown up yet, leaving them hopeful that the threat had been just that and nothing more.
Dobey seemed satisfied that the detectives’ heavy caseload, along with Tuley’s constant haggling, had been the source of Hutch’s uncharacteristic behavior and subsequent resignation and had eagerly welcomed him back on the job. Hutch enjoyed spending the following days at Starsky’s apartment, while the remnants of the ordeal were being cleaned up and disposed of at his place. He was grateful that Starsky had discreetly removed the incriminating photographs when he had returned to gather some of his things, ensuring that the photos wouldn’t end up in the wrong hands. The time off had afforded them the luxury of waking up in each other’s arms, reveling in the warmth of their love for one another, appreciating the simple things that seemed more important now-the feel of a light breath brushing the fine hairs at the nape of your neck, a lazy arm draped across your shoulder, the soft pitter-patter of a heartbeat against your back as you’re pulled closer to the warm body nestled behind you-they all took on a different meaning, redefining life’s little treasures.
This day was no different as they spent the last of their days off relaxing in bed. Hutch had even forgone his morning jog, something that didn’t seem quite as satisfying as a snarl of dark curls tickling his nose at 6:15 a.m.
“Hey, I kinda like this one. Don’t ya think, Hutch?” Starsky tapped Hutch’s thigh, while turning the photo he held at an angle to study it closer. “That’s my good side. You really seem to be gettin’ into it about then.”
Hutch nuzzled Starsky’s earlobe, gently nipping at the tender delicacy, wishing he didn’t have to move. He slowly leaned up, lazily propping his upper body on one elbow, long legs stretched alongside his lover’s under the rumpled mint green sheets. His morning contentment suddenly fizzled as he focused on the photo Starsky held. With a huff, he tried to snatch the telltale picture. “Will you give me that? I thought you already burned all of these?” he queried, voice edged with annoyance but not anger.
Dodging Hutch’s attempted thievery, Starsky confessed, “I was going to. I mean I am going to. I just wanted to look at them one last time.” He grinned mischievously, tapping his finger on another photo he had pulled from a box under his bed. “Look at this one, Hutch. Look how your eyes are all glazed over, how that little bead of sweat is trailing across your upper lip. Never realized I had such an effect on you, you know, in the heat of the moment like that. It’s kinda hard to see your face from my vantage point on my hands and knees.”
Hutch wagged a finger in Starsky’s face. “Starsky, I swear, if you don’t give me those. I’m gonna¾” Starsky callously tossed the photos aside and rolled on top of him, hovering near his peevish scowl. His naked body warmed to the sensual contact.
“What? You’re gonna what, lover?” Starsky whispered, nipping at the fullness of Hutch’s bottom lip.
Hutch responded willingly as the kiss deepened, Starsky’s tongue gliding over his with practiced ease, gently coaxing his frown to a smile. His cock greeted the growing bulge pressing against his thigh with an affirming salute. Starsky pulled back and smiled at him, smug as a cat with a mouthful of feathers.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Starsky crowed. “Besides, who needs photos when I’ve got the real thing?” Wrapping his fingers around Hutch’s hand, he pulled it toward his face, greeting the open palm with a loving peck.
The bandage around Hutch’s wrist brushed against Starsky’s cheek, an injury that was mirrored on his other wrist as well.
With a remorseful sigh, Starsky again offered the apology he had spoken countless times in the days following their ordeal. “I’m sorry I left you cuffed-”
Briefly covering Starsky’s mouth with his hand, Hutch cut the apology short. “Shhh…Starsk, no. Please, don’t apologize again. If you hadn’t done that, there’s no telling where I would’ve ended up. I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t have my job. You were just protecting me, the only way you knew how. I wouldn’t have listened to you otherwise. We both know that.”
“Yeah, I know, but-”
Hutch pressed his hand over Starsky’s mouth once again. “No, buts. I mean it.” His other hand moved to cup the curve of Starsky’s ass, giving it a suggestive squeeze. “Unless, maybe, we’re talking about another butt. Then we’ll talk.”
Starsky purred in response, eyebrows arching with interest. “Oh, is that so? Well, I don’t plan on doin’ much talkin’ if you wanna talk about that butt.”
Hutch played into the game, smiling devilishly. “Really, now? So, just what do you plan on doin’ with that butt?” Starsky gently thrust against him, initiating another welcome greeting and a sufficient answer to his question. Hutch’s free hand moved to mirror the caress on Starsky’s other ass cheek, drawing the narrow hips closer to his own. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”
Trailing his thumb across Hutch’s eyebrow, Starsky’s expression grew serious. “I love you, Hutch.”
Four simple words. Words that meant more to him than the entire offering of Webster’s Dictionary. Hutch reacted to them as if he’d never heard them before, a knot of emotion catching in his throat. For a moment, he let those words linger in his mind, not wanting to dispel their importance by speaking. He brushed the back of his hand along the side of Starsky’s face, appreciating every square inch of the beauty beaming down on him before responding, “I love you, too, Starsk.” Their lips joined in a fevered kiss, igniting sparks of passion that bristled the fine hair along his arms. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”
Starsky leaned up and pulled the confining top sheet from the bed, exposing Hutch’s nude body. He didn’t waste any time, focusing a series of nips and kisses along the tender skin at the inside of Hutch’s thighs.
Hutch squirmed in pleasurable agony. He buried his fingers in Starsky’s dark curls, tugging slightly, a misguided effort to lead those sumptuous lips toward his leaking cock demanding attention. “Starsk, please,” he implored, his body shuddering with need, but his efforts were resisted, his impassioned agony prolonged as his balls were drawn into Starsky’s mouth, where they were sucked with ardent torture.
Starsky leaned up and smiled. “Not so fast, lover. We’ve got all day.”
“Oh, God, you’re driving me crazy,” Hutch confessed, his head thrashing side to side. Finally, he felt those lips wrap around him, pulling him into a warm haven of flaming ice and ecstasy. His hips bucked in response, driving his aching cock farther into the talented mouth, Starsky taking his girth up to his balls again and again as he sucked and licked the entire length of his taut shaft. Roving hands slid up his chest to his nipples, fingers mercilessly tweaking the tender buds to rigid peaks. The pleasure-pain sensation left Hutch bucking under his lover like a crazed bull. He couldn’t think anymore, his mind unable to process the multitude of sensations gripping his body. His back arched and twisted, stiff fingers tearing at the sheets beneath him, struggling for any foothold on the euphoria that was sending him to a peak that dwarfed Mount Everest. He exploded with the fury of a collapsing dam, his body spasming again and again as every ounce of his love spilled into Starsky’s throat. “Oh, God, you’re incredible,” he spouted through short gasps of breath, still lost in a fog of passion. He felt himself suddenly rolled to his stomach, his ass cheeks hurriedly parted as a gel-slickened finger penetrated him.
“Need you, Hutch. Need you, need you so much,” Starsky chanted in crazed need, a bead of sweat trailing across his upper lip.
“I’m yours, babe. Fuck me,” Hutch responded willfully as the tip of Starsky’s cock bounced against the crack of his ass. “Do it, now.” Starsky gripped his hips and burrowed within him, fingers clawing into the thin skin near his waistline. Hutch was pulled back against the rigid cock again and again, each time delving deeper, filling him with white-hot passion. Sensing Starsky’s urgency, he counter thrust, using all of his strength to push back against the welcome intruder, giving his lover what he needed, what he craved.
“So good,” Starsky muttered thickly.
Hutch was nearly knocked off balance as Starsky pulled back one last time and thrust forward with ravenous desire, pouring into him with a ferocity that finally ended his lover’s pleasant suffering.
Starsky toppled next to Hutch, mumbling something about Heaven on Earth as his eyelids slowly closed.
Hutch pulled the limp body gently into his arms, cradling his lover against his nakedness. He pressed his lips to the tangle of unruly dark curls, whispering to the sleeping man, “Sleep. Sleep, my love.” His breathing soon matched Starsky’s slow, even rhythm as he drifted off into a deep sleep, lips slightly curled in a contented smile.
~*~*~
The phone rang, intruding into the men’s exhausted slumber. Peeking from a half-closed eye, Starsky scowled at the menacing apparatus perched on the bedside stand, debating whether to answer it. With great reluctance, he reached out, slapping his hand on the receiver and pulling it to his ear. “Yeah?” After a few spoken words, he quickly sat up, his undivided attention devoted to the conversation he heard on the other end. “Yeah, okay, Cap’n. We’ll be right down.” He returned the receiver to its cradle and turned to face Hutch, worry etched in his dark features.
“Well?” Hutch asked anxiously. “What was that about?”
“That was Dobey,” Starsky replied. “He wants to see us, now. It’s about Kendall.”
Hutch’s entire body tensed. “Oh, no. You think he got the pictures?”
“I don’t know, Hutch. He didn’t say, not even a clue.” Starsky bit nervously at the corner of his lip, a muddle of thoughts clouding his mind.
“This doesn’t sound good.” Hutch trailed his fingers wistfully along the length of Starsky’s forearm. “Starsk, you know what might happen if he and Simonetti got those photos.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do, babe,” Starsky answered without hesitation. “I’ll still have you.” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to Hutch’s lips, his hand reaching to caress the fine strands of blond dampened by their passionate lovemaking. He paused for a moment, his forehead resting against Hutch’s as he peered deep into the soft blue eyes. “That’s all that matters.”
~*~*~
The squadroom was empty except for one officer engrossed in a mound of paperwork in the corner of the room, as Starsky and Hutch trudged apprehensively toward Dobey’s office door.
Hutch rapped lightly on the wooden panel, waiting for his captain’s gruff voice to sound from the other side.
“Come in,” Dobey responded.
Hutch shared a look of comfort and reassurance with Starsky before he sauntered ahead and settled in his usual seat in front of his captain, Starsky sitting next to him. “You, uh, wanted to see us, Captain?” he queried, shifting restlessly, while nervously clearing his throat.
Dobey’s dark eyes pivoted between the two men. “Yes, I know it’s your last day off, but I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to discuss this.”
Starsky swallowed hard, his fingers wrapped tightly around the arms of the chair. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“You said this was about Kendall,” Hutch chimed in.
“Yes, it’s about him.” Dobey continued to stare at the two detectives, a lull of silence thickening the air with tension. “Hutchinson, is there anything you want to talk to me about? You know, about Kendall?”
A quick glance in Starsky’s direction was met with a “he knows” look from his partner. Still, Hutch played down the situation. “Uh, no, sir. I don’t think so. I-I told you what happened.”
“I know what happened, which is why I’m worried about you.” Dobey clasped his hands in front of him and leaned back in his chair, eyes intently focused on Hutch. “I just want to make sure you’re dealing with this okay. You’ve kept this abuse bottled up inside of you for years, and now that it’s all come out, I wasn’t sure how you were handling it. I thought you might want to talk to someone about it, you know, before you come back to work tomorrow. I can arrange it and give you some extra time off if you want me to.”
Hutch exhaled sharply as he realized that this was the issue Dobey wanted to address, not the photos. “No, that won’t be necessary, Captain, but I appreciate the offer. I’m fine, really. I’m just glad it’s all over with,” he admitted, hopeful that it was, indeed, all over with.
Starsky pried his fingernails from the chair he was clutching in a death grip, a tinge of color returning to his face as he exhaled in unison with his partner.
Dobey’s lips thinned in thought. “I didn’t really think you’d agree to it, but I wanted you to know the help is there if you need it.” His gaze shifted in Starsky’s direction. “Which is why I wanted you here, too, Starsky. I figured you’d be the one he’d talk to if he needs someone, so just keep an eye on him, okay?”
Starsky’s posture stiffened, a cursory smile brightening his face. “Yeah, sure, whatever he needs or wants. I’ll make sure he gets it.”
Hutch grinned under the hand cupped over his mouth, knowing the words held more meaning than Dobey realized.
“I’m sure you will,” Dobey agreed, a strange edge to his voice. “Okay, then, I’ll see you two back here tomorrow at eight a.m. sharp.” He waved his hand, motioning them toward the door.
Starsky and Hutch darted relieved glances in each other’s direction as they eagerly stood from their chairs, preparing to leave. Facing the door, Dobey’s voice sounded from behind them.
“Oh, Hutchinson,” Dobey called out.
Hutch turned to face his captain. “Yeah, Cap’n?” he replied nonchalantly.
Dobey held two large envelopes in his hand and offered them to Hutch. “I think I got some of your mail by mistake. It looks like Simonetti did, too. He’s out sick, and I was supposed to bring his mail by this evening when I dropped off some files for him. I figured I’d save him the trip of getting this back to you, so I just took it out of his stack of mail.”
Hutch’s face drained of color, the ashen hue nearly matching Starsky’s pallid skin. His hand trembled slightly as he took the envelopes from Dobey, his body breaking out in a cold sweat as he realized they had been opened. A quick glance inside one of them confirmed his worst nightmare¾the photos Kendall had promised would destroy Starsky and him. He looked to Starsky at a loss for words, then back to Dobey, his mouth gaping open in silence.
Starsky attempted to speak in an effort to explain what there was no explanation for, his words fumbling from his mouth. “Cap, those photos. I don’t know what to say. I mean. We didn’t know Kendall was there. The two of us, well, we…I mean….”
Hutch tried to find the words to take up where Starsky had left off. “What he means is, the two of us… I don’t know how to say this, but we…I mean…ever s-since…” he stammered with frustration and trepidation.
Dobey scowled at them, his eyebrows lowered over studying eyes. “Are you two just gonna stand there wagging your tongues all day, or are you gonna get out of here so I can get my work done?” he barked, impassively disregarding the matter at hand.
The room fell silent as Starsky and Hutch stared in disbelief at Dobey, the unspoken understanding between them the only explanation needed.
Starsky abruptly shook his head. “No, of course not. Don’t wanna keep you from your work.”
“Yeah, Cap’n, we have things we could be doing anyway.” Hutch outwardly cringed at his poor choice of words.
“Yeah, I bet you do,” Dobey replied coolly, a slight smile curving his lips. “Now, get out of here.”
Turning quickly, Starsky lurched at the door, exiting the office with Hutch on his heels. As the door latched closed behind them, he stopped to catch his breath, pressing the heel of his hand to his chest. “Am I still alive?” he asked flippantly. “Do I need CPR? Mouth-to-mouth? Did what I think happen just happen in there?”
Hutch was in no better shape, propping his hand on the woodwork surrounding Dobey’s door to steady the legs that threatened to buckle under him. “Yeah, it did. I mean, I think it did. Didn’t it?”
Nodding with guarded reluctance, Starsky agreed. “I think it did.”
Rubbing the back of his hand under his chin, a broad smile spread across Hutch’s face. The realization that Dobey was aware of and, most importantly, accepting of their relationship was more than he could ever ask for. He held both sets of photos in his hands. Simonetti would never find out. Dobey knew and didn’t care. With a slight quiver in his voice, he stared at Starsky, kissing every square inch of that beautiful face with his eyes as he spoke. “We’re gonna be okay, Starsk. We’re gonna be okay.”
Starsky’s eyes clouded with moisture as he pulled Hutch into his arms in a crushing embrace, paying little heed to the officer still engrossed in paperwork in the corner of the room, or to Tuley approaching in the distance. “Yeah, babe, we are,” he whispered in reply.
“Can’t keep your hands off of him, can you, Starsky?” Tuley spouted sarcastically. The dark circle rimming his eye, which Hutch had graced him with, obviously had had little effect on his attitude. “Take it somewhere else and spare Stinson and me the drama, okay?” He jutted a thumb in the direction of the other officer, who was paying no attention to what was going on.
Starsky quickly released Hutch from the embrace, his demeanor calm and indifferent. “You say somethin’, Tuley?”
“You heard me,” Tuley snapped, eyes narrowing with ire. “So, is he a good kisser?” he taunted, pushing the issue, hands clenched in tight fists, poised for combat.
Tapping a finger reflectively to his chin, Starsky stepped closer to his partner. “Hmmmm…good question, Tuley. Let’s find out, shall we?” He cupped the beloved face in his hands and pressed his mouth to Hutch’s, tenderly kissing the familiar lips.
Hutch didn’t flinch, tilting his head slightly to the right, as he returned the loving gesture.
Tuley’s jaw hit the floor, eyes as broad as silver dollars.
Pulling back, Starsky beamed haughtily. “Yeah, he sure is.”
Tuley wagged his index finger disbelievingly at the two detectives. “Stinson! Stinson! Did you, did you see that? He kissed him! Starsky kissed Hutchinson. Did you see that?” he shrieked again.
Stinson didn’t look up, too busy pounding at the keys of his typewriter to be bothered with foolishness. “Give it a rest, Tuley,” he replied with irritation. “The joke’s gettin’ old.”
“But didn’t you see that?” Tuley squawked again, but Stinson never replied. Starsky brushed by Tuley, beaming from ear to ear. “I didn’t see a thing, Hutch. Did you?”
With a slight bounce on the balls of his feet, Hutch turned to follow Starsky, smugly tapping the flat of his hand to Tuley’s chest as he moved passed him. “Nope, not a thing, Starsk. Maybe you should get glasses, huh, Tuley?”
The two men sauntered contentedly from the squadroom, sharing a playful banter between them as they discussed the best place for lunch, Tony’s Tacos or Natalia’s Corner Bistro. What they planned to have for dessert, however, was not in question.
The End
Comments on this story can be sent to the author at tamk28@aol.com
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