Alleys and Gutters

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Starsky is sick and both men have to work the nightshift. A short series of events depicting their lives as cops.

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10-103 Disturbance

Night shift stinks…

Slouching down further in the passenger seat of Hutch’s hunk of junk, I glanced over at my brooding partner. The earlier 10-103 must have gotten to him too. He’d been real quiet ever since, and his complexion looked like it had turned as pale as his hair. I wanted to say something smart-alecky, but decided right now, silence was golden.

I’d just barely gotten over the worst flu/ear infection I’d had since I was ten years old. Three days off, and still I wasn’t one hundred percent. Yet, I had to suck up the discomfort and return to work. It was only my second day back on duty, and I’d found myself running down one of the filthiest alleys I’d ever set foot in.

I rubbed the back of my neck and yawned, trying hard not to think about the disturbance call. I hated disturbance calls, they could turn out to be anything from someone refusing to pay for their cup of coffee to a royal rumble. You never knew what you were in for, and tonight was no different.Guess I wasn’t trying hard enough not to think as the call was all I could think of.

We approached the restaurant on Prospect with caution. Hutch took the front, while I had gone around to the back of the café. I tried to blend into the shadows as the alleyway leading to the back was brightly lit. I stopped inches away from the screen door, drew my gun, my badge extended for proper identification, and counted off thirty seconds. Just as I was about to enter the building, some flake came barreling out the door, plowing into me. The sudden jolt sent a nauseating feeling shooting through my gut. I twisted around and stumbled two steps backward, feeling breathless and slightly disoriented, just barely staying on my feet.

I tried to gather my wits but the scumbag got the drop on me. From behind, gloved fingers gripped my neck. His body pushed against my back, and he shoved my face up along side a large metal dumpster. I felt the man’s hot breath real close to my face, almost gagging as it smelled like bad tuna. I choked, recognizing the sound of a switchblade opening with expertise and pressing into my rib cage.

“Drop the gun, pig!” Bad Tuna hissed in my ear.

“Drop the knife, scum,” I hissed back, holding firm to my weapon, unwilling to give in.

“I’ll stick you… right here!”

“Drop…the…knife,” I repeated through gritted teeth, listening for Hutch to arrive and find us.

I felt the point of cold steel start to slowly push inward.

“I don’t advise you do that,” I said, feeling shaky. It was a huge effort but I kept my composure and shook the shadowy haze from my head. “My partner doesn’t play nice with others. The last guy who tried to mess around in our sandbox –” I swallowed, still trying to gather my senses. “It wasn’t pretty,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster while trying to worm my way out of a bad situation.

“Your large intestine hanging out your side will be even less pretty,” Bad Tuna snarled.

No way I was dropping my gun, I took a breath and steeled myself for what could come next when the assailant suddenly froze.

“Police!” Hutch’s voice boomed from behind, as I heard the delayed sound of the screen door slam shut.

I could tell by the way the suspect stiffened that my partner probably had the barrel of his .357 shoved against the guy’s back.

“Drop the knife, pal,” Hutch whispered in a low and aggressive tone.

The knife against my side clattered to the alleyway. “Your partner decided to show,” Tuna snarled with disappointment.

“Sure as hell isn’t my Aunt Gertrude,” I spat, spinning around and quickly holstering my gun in exchange for my cuffs — something I could do in my sleep.

Fighting not to faint into dreamland, I handcuffed Tuna, marched him out the alley, and stuffed him in the back seat of Hutch’s car.

As we headed toward Metro to book him, I tried to shake the recent event from my pounding head — it was hard to stay awake. I stifled a moan, and nonchalantly rubbed my side. I could almost feel the tip of the knife that was there only a short time ago, certain I had inquired a small nick.

“What?” The blond boy wonder noticed and glanced over at me.

“Nothin’, Hutch,” I grumbled. This was going to be one hell of a night.

“Cheer up, Starsky.” Hutch crawled into my mind like he always does when I don’t want him to. “Could have been worse. We got the guy… didn’t we?” Hutch reminded.

“You didn’t get shit, cop!” Bad Tuna kicked a booted foot into the back of my seat.

“Umph,” I grunted and turned to say something, but Hutch beat me to it.

“Hey!” Hutch yelled. “Cool it!”

“I guess,” I said, glaring at Tuna. He wouldn’t look me the eye. Coward, I thought as I turned to face front once more.

“What’s up with you?” Hutch asked.

“Nothing.”

“Something.” Hutch poked a finger into my rib cage. “You sure he didn’t hurt you?” Hutch gave Tuna the death stare via the rear view mirror.

“Ouch!” I shoved my partner’s annoying hand away. Hell if I was going to look weak in front of our prisoner. “Will you stop it!” I yelled in irritation. “I won’t be fine if you keep trying to punch a hole in my side with that steel finger of yours. Hutch! Look. I’m-“

“Good?” Hutch raised a brow.

“Better,” I softened.

“Okay, okay. Sorry, Starsk.”

“You’re my hero, Hutchinson. Is that what you want to hear?” I asked, as I tried to hide my embarrassment of the situation. I didn’t want to talk about this with Tuna in the back seat listening in on every word.

“C’mon.” Hutch dropped a hand to my shoulder. “Was just me, buddy, doing my job. Backing up my partner.”

“Yeah, sure,” I whispered.

“Starsk, I’ll tell you what. Next time you can be the hero. Deal?”

It wasn’t about me wanting to be a hero.

“Deal, Starsk?”

It was about this old badge not shining like it used to and my stiff shoulder holster now worn and butter soft, like an old ball glove a kid had outgrown and had stored in a damp cardboard box, in a dark corner of some musty basement. It was about me maybe losing my edge. It was about how clumsy I had gotten. What if it was Hutch about to be ripped open by a blade and I had been two steps too slow? I was nobody’s hero. What was being a hero, anyway? It’s a prideful thing. My Dad always taught me not to pat myself on the back too hard — I might break my hand. A true hero never thinks of himself as a hero.

Hutch was the true hero in this partnership. Honest. Faithful. Moral.

I shook my head, and leaned back against the seat, trying to escape my fevered reverie. I decided instead to take advantage of our current lull and rest my eyes. I couldn’t get comfortable, and still couldn’t stop thinking about how the filth in this city could chew you up and eat you alive.

“Starsky, is it a deal?” Hutch’s soft mother-hen voice was grating on my nerves, what he really was asking was if I was okay.

I wiggled in my seat, and glanced at the dashboard clock. I needed to distract Hutch from his questioning, he was driving me insane. Four in the morning? Raising my wrist and studying my wristwatch under the halo of streetlights that passed by the hands read eleven forty p.m. I eyed Hutch suspiciously; he was doing his best not to smile. When was he going to fix his car clock? I think he hates time. He hates numbers so that would make sense. I’m thinking my partner doesn’t fix the thing on purpose. He knows how to drive me nuts.

“What’s the matter, cop? I knick you with my blade?” Tuna chuckled. “I got a better deal for you, ‘next time’ hero. I still owe you one, and when I get out of the slammer I’m going to give it to you.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but before I could even take a breath Hutch slammed on the brakes, whipped around violently, and poked that steel finger of his in Bad Tuna’s Adam’s apple.

“Errrrrrrrrr!” Tuna squealed like a damsel in distress as my white knight partner sent his point home.

“I’ll make a deal with you, scum,” Hutch gritted between his teeth. “You keep your mouth shut with talk like that…or I’ll file this finger down to its finest possible edge and slice –”

“Go easy, Hutch,” I whispered.

“You get me, scum?” Hutch said in the purest icy voice I’d ever heard come from him.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I get you.” Tuna gulped for air like the hooked fish he was, and settled back in his seat.

“Deal, partner?” Gentle blue eyes looked my way — all I could do was nod my agreement.

 

11-10 Take a report

After we dragged the suspect to jail, booked him and did the paperwork, I dragged my tired body back to Hutch’s car — felt like an eternity. I sat quietly in the passenger seat while this nasty cold continued to take over my body. I felt like a puppet on a string. I couldn’t move fast enough when that creep ran into me. It made my head spin and I’d lost my edge. If it weren’t for Hutch, I’d have a nice knife hole in me right now.

I cleared my throat, feeling like the lining was peeling away, and my leaking nose was doing a marathon run.

“You going to survive that cold, partner?”

“Yes, Aunt Gertrude.” I grabbed a tissue out of my pocket and blew my nose.

“You know, Starsk, if you tried some of my good health drink you might not feel so –”

“No! Not the health drink thing again, Hutch. Anything but the health drink thing.”

“Starsky, if we took responsibility for what we put in our mouths, half the department wouldn’t be down.”

“Okay, Mr. All Natural.”

“Starsk, believe me my health drink works. Why won’t you take my advice?”

“It’s my Constitutional right not to,” I plainly said, as I stuffed the dirty tissue back in my pocket and we both fell silent.

No amount of health drink was going to help. I felt awful, but still had to be at work. Last night every time I lifted my head off the pillow, the pain in my head felt like a double-barreled shotgun going off. It hurt so much and I felt like I was going to be sick — okay I threw up once. I couldn’t eat anything and everything I drank just came back up. All I could do was sleep, which did little good as I kept having these terrible fever-related nightmares.

Nightshift wasn’t doing me any good either. I still couldn’t breathe very well, my head was clogged, my throat hurt, and I had to listen to Hutch’s definitive guide to curing the common cold and whatever else allied you, on and off for the last few hours.

“How you holding up?” Hutch asked.

“Fine,” I lied, as I downed another round of cold medicine.

“You didn’t act fine back there in that alley when that guy got the better of you and had a knife to your –”

“Hutch, he didn’t get the better of me. I ran into him on his way out. I’m fine,” I grumbled.

“Fine!” Hutch snapped.

I was grumpy and I hated stupid questions. Sometimes shit happens. There was no reason. I didn’t peel myself out of bed this morning and say, ‘Hey, I am going to try to screw up today.’ I still felt crappy, even with downing dose after dose of cold medicine. Besides, the stuff didn’t taste like medicine; it tasted like candy. Hutch said if it doesn’t taste bad, it won’t work. Well, the cold syrup sure beat the hell out of Hutch’s herbal remedies.

So, I had caught the stomach flu along with the rest of the department. So, I had a little blunder back there in that alley. So, I still had a scratchy throat and a low-grade fever. Not enough to keep me from going out and mixing it up.

So, with half the department out, Dobey had called in every man, no matter how pale and with any smidgeon of energy to help patrol the street.

So, my blond partner never got sick.

I glanced over and made eye contact with Hutch.

He smiled.

I frowned.

“Hutch, what’s in this therapeutic blend of yours anyway?”

“Just your usual,” he said. “Organic herbs, raw apple cider vinegar, and licorice root.”

“Eewww!” I gagged. “You’re lucky the FDA doesn’t shove you in a cardboard maze with twenty other mutant lab rats, watch you push buzzers, force feed you cheese, and write up a report about it.” I rolled my eyes.

“Roll your eyes all you want, partner. But I’m not the one who’s sick”

Sighing, I looked out my window. Didn’t Hutch know a bottle of organic salad dressing wouldn’t keep away the flu?

 

10-7b Out of service (personal)

“Starsk?” A voice rang in my ears.

I slowly raised my chin off my chest, rubbed my burning eyes, and glanced over at the direction of the voice.

“Sorry,” I muttered, realizing it was Hutch I had heard. I looked at the car clock, then remembering it was broken I eyed my wristwatch for what seemed like the thousandth time. I’d dozed off not even halfway through our patrol. “How long was I actually out?” I questioned sleepily.

“Only forty minutes. Don’t worry, buddy, all’s quiet on the Western Front.”

“Terrific. That only leaves three other fronts to –” I snuffled. “To confront.”

Hutch gave a light chuckle. I shifted stiffly, looked out my window, and listened to the sound of a train whistle somewhere in the distance. It was quiet and I felt more relaxed after my little nap. Only thing was, I know all too well the truth about this city. Something… somewhere… was about to go down, and sooner or later Hutch and I would be there. In a warehouse or down some dark alley where shadows fall eerily, and stray bullets have an intended path — us.

I glanced over at Hutch, he didn’t look as pale as before, and I noted the peaceful look on his face. He was daydreaming about something good. I could see a small smile playing on his lips and a sinful gleam in his eyes. Man, Hutch amazes me. Even with all his quirks. Even in the middle of this snake-house, he has an incredible way of keeping his head about him. Guy even gets drunk with dignity. I got lucky when I landed him as a partner — he brings balance to an unbalanced world — even if he does drive me nuts.

Hutch happen to catch my eye. “What?” he asked.

“What?” I parroted.

Smiling, I went back to looking out my window. I didn’t want to disturb the serenity of the moment. We both knew all too well we were like a traveling circus and any moment a spectacle could begin in any one or all three rings at once. For a while, I drowsily listened to the hum of the engine and my own stuffy breathing. Watching dilapidated buildings whiz past, my eyes began to feel like lead curtains again and my body became even more stiff and achy.

Scary images filled my head. A refrigerator in a dark corner that dispensed hot dogs. Not the kind that you eat, but the kind that like to eat you.. Man-eating blenders. Fire and flames. Blood spattered crime scenes. Me, blasting my way through a maze littered with killers, rapists and thieves — only everyone I shot, no matter how many times, wouldn’t drop. A gargantuan Dobey pointing a pencil the size of a redwood at me and screaming at the top of his lungs. “Starsky! What were you thinking? Those reports needed to be done in triple time. You tell your partner to –”

“Wake up.” Something gripped my shoulder, and shook.

My body jerked, and I reached for my gun. I felt like a stuffed bear — my brain filled with fluff. I glanced to my left expecting to be eaten alive by an oversized Dobey looming over me like Godzilla. I stopped short when I came face to face with someone else.

“Hutch?”

Swiftly, I realized where I was and that I had fallen back to sleep.

“Easy, tiger,” Hutch said, closely watching me. “You dozed off again for a few minutes and were dreaming. You okay?”

A brick in the head would hurt less than the pounding that was going on in my brain right now.

“I’m fine.” I muttered my lie.

“You going to survive that cold, partner?” Hutch asked again with the underlying tone of motherly concern that I really hated.

“You going to spend our whole shift wearing out those words?” I shook my head of the bizarre dreams I was having. No more cold meds for me.

“Starsky, maybe –”

“Experience tells me that means yes,” I cut Hutch off.

“Starsk, maybe I should call you in sick and take you –”

“Dobey’s orders. If you can stand upright, you’re on duty. Besides, Hutch, I’m fine. Not wind, nor fever, nor potential threat of pneumonia can keep me from my appointed destination.”

“What are you a sick mailman?”

“Something like that,” I replied, deadpan. “I hold through all kinds of weather.” I smirked. “That’s more than I can say about your car.”

“What’s my car got to do with it?”

Hutch glared at me like he wanted to cut off my balls. I’m reasonably found of my balls so I took a calming breath and said, “Sorry.” Trying not to cough. “I’m okay, Blondie. Just cranky and tired.”

“Yeah?” Hutch questioned softly, and gave my shoulder a squeeze before releasing his hold.

“Yeah, I was having the weirdest dream about Dobey.” I changed the subject.

“Want to tell me about it?” Hutch asked.

“Let’s just say I’ll never look at him the same way again.” I struggled to maintain the snicker that wanted to escape.

Hutch laughed. “How about some coffee, pal? That might help. Where’s the thermos?”

I rubbed my eyes, before clumsily twisting around and reaching into the back seat. After digging through the grime, I found the thermos Hutch’s grandfather used to take to work with him everyday. I guess everyone keeps something personal that belonged to the person you loved so much. For me, it was my Dad’s pinky rings. For Hutch, it was a tall red plaid thermos that he liked to fill with coffee.

“Here you go.” I shook the thermos, making sure it was empty, and placed it on the seat between us.

A few blocks later, Hutch pulled up to an all night convenience store, and it wasn’t long before he pushed a hot Styrofoam cup filled with hot coffee into my hands.

I took a few sips. It tasted like cardboard, but I could feel some of the ache leave my body. I glanced at the thermos that Hutch held between his thighs as he put the car back onto the road.

“Shoeless Joe?” I gestured toward the container.

Hutch turned to me, his smile looking as bright as a Christmas window display at Macy’s.

“Shoeless Joe,” he affirmed.

I gripped Hutch’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Where so many folks ignored the existence of the homeless – my partner went out of his way for them.

Shoeless Joe was an old down-and-out man Hutch had befriended last year. Joe had thought outside the cardboard box and found a cozy place to live. He’d cocooned himself inside an old abandoned truck in a grassy field behind Weasel’s Pawnshop. Within that block of space, the man had made himself a nice little setup. An old mattress to sleep on, an old bookcase filled with books he’d found. Even a small cabinet he kept canned goods he got from the Salvation Army. Weasel, the owner of the pawnshop was even good enough to let Joe use the facilities and shelter him indoors when the weather got too bad. A few times per week, my big-hearted partner would bring Joe fresh blankets, a thermos of coffee, hot soup, or a clean shirt.

Hutch had long since given up bringing the guy shoes. Seemed Shoeless wanted to remain — well, shoeless.

We pulled into the parking lot and with flashlights in hand made our way across the grassy field to the truck. I stood a few feet back watching. Joe wasn’t fond of people. Somehow, he and Hutch had made a connection, though.

I watched Hutch rap his secret knock on the door, and it immediately opened.

“Ahoy, Matey!” Joe smiled that sort of smile that started at the top of his head and went straight down to his curled bare toes.

Joe always did remind me of a sailor man. Maybe it was his sun-wrinkled skin. Or maybe it was his straggly white hair and beard, and the way he sometimes smelled of spiced rum and pure maple syrup. Or maybe it was the leather patch over his left eye and the tobacco-filled pipe held tight in the corner of his mouth. Or maybe it was the depth of his one blue eye that seemed to splish-splash when it glared at you; almost as if it was telling you the story of sailing the high seas. I laughed inwardly wondering if the guy ate spinach out of a can.

“Hey, Joe, brought you some coffee,” Hutch said, holding up the thermos.

“You’re too good to me, Ken,” Shoeless said, shakily reaching for the thermos, and clutching it between both hands

Joe’s hands were withered and dried and always shook, but not with fear. They shook with age.

I remembered last year when Hutch had found the aged man on a cold Sunday morning, huddled in his truck. Weasel had tipped Hutch off, telling him about an old man out back and how he thought the guy was dead. Hutch found Joe sick, apparently suffering from pneumonia. Hutch had raced him to the hospital. Joe’s ship seemed dead in the water, but he had survived the virus, and Hutch had pulled a lot of strings finding Joe a permanent bed at the East Side homeless shelter. But Joe would have nothing to do with that. He’d been homeless for over twenty-five years. He had said poor choices and bad luck had landed him out on the streets, and he figured that was where he belonged — and where he would die. He had told Hutch not to worry, that life had outlived its welcome anyway. I remember how sad Hutch was for days when he told me what Joe had said to him.

That was a year ago and Joe was still kicking, even though he continued to chant that same phrase.

Hutch and I figured it was that very phrase that kept the man fighting — for deep down, Joe really didn’t believe those words.

Joe seemed grateful as he sipped the hot liquid. “Someday, Hutch, I’m going to buy you a cup of coffee for your troubles,” he mumbled then took another sip of coffee.

“Someday, Joe — I might just let you,” Hutch chuckled.

I watched on while Hutch chatted to Joe, and he gently patted the old sailor’s chest. I smiled to myself, as I realized my compassionate partner had nonchalantly slipped a few bills into the man’s shirt pocket. Joe finished his drink and handed the thermos back to Hutch and they said a quick goodbye.

As my partner and I walked back across the grassy field under the clear night sky, I felt a sappy moment coming on. Hutch never did have that ‘it’s not my problem’ attitude, and I was compelled to sling an arm over his shoulder and draw him near. Kiss him even. I resisted the urge — for obvious reasons.

Instead, song lyrics filled my head: Something about clowns to the left of me, jokers to my right — but here in the middle of my world was Hutch, and he had a colossal sized heart that made me proud to call him friend.

 

10-103f Disturbance by fight

The car was library quiet as we continued on our shift. I rubbed the back of my neck and yawned, barely able to keep my eyes open.

“Starsk, you don’t look like you’re going to make it much further without a real night’s sleep, pal.”

“I’m wide awake,” I said, feeling Hutch’s suspicious eyes on me.

I glanced over at my partner. “What? You don’t believe me?”

“Nope,” Hutch laughed.

I suppressed another yawn and stretched. “It’s true,” I fibbed. “Besides, you look like you’re about to fall asleep at the wheel. Why don’t you let me drive?”

“No thanks, buddy — don’t want to end up in a t-tree or in a d-ditch,” my over-caffeinated partner stuttered.

“Hutch, are you trying to tell me something?” I slunk down in my seat with a low groan, my whole body hurt.

“You catch a few more winks, Starsk. I’ll drive. Trust me, you’re going to need it. We got a long night ahead of us.”

“Hutch, I got a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ll sleep and you drive,” I gave a sleep-drunken snort. “Just give me ten minutes,” I said as we both got quiet.

I had to shake this cold, and what better way to do that, than with a little more shuteye.

“Zebra Three. Zebra Three.”

We both jumped nearly out of our skin when dispatch broke the stillness. Some crazy call about a couple of drunks and a hooker who had stolen their wallets and car keys. “Respond Code Three.” (Lights and sirens).

I was wide-awake now.

When Hutch and I arrived at the trailer park, we didn’t expect the gunfire but it wasn’t hard to pin down which trailer the bullets were coming from. Hutch radioed in to dispatch, ‘shots fired, and pulling the car as close as we dared. Cutting the engine, Hutch left the mars light spinning and the high beams spotlighting the trailer. We both drew our guns, slipped out of the car, and squatted down behind the rear bumper. Bullets flew every which way, like an angry beehive that had been poked with a stick. Most of the trailer’s windows were already busted out and I could see inside. There were three people, two male and one female. One of the men was visibly larger and dressed head to toe in shiny black leather.

We held our positions, not wanting to catch a stray bullet, and trying to decide how to handle this one, as dispatch had informed us they were trying to find our closest back up.

“Did you think you were going to get away without paying me?” I peered out from behind the back bumper to see the larger of the two males inside the trailer. He screamed at the other man. “You think this shit is candy? It don’t come cheap! Pay me now!” he yelled.

“No! Stop!” The woman screamed, then fell out of sight as more bullets pinged against metal, and finally busted out the last remaining windows.

This was no ordinary shakedown. I gave a quick glance around. There were several other trailers close by, and I could see a few folks peeking out from behind curtains and cracked doors. We had to get the situation under control fast before someone got killed.

I eyed Hutch, who had moved to squat near the front of the car. A terrific idea suddenly flashed inside my brain. Thinking fast on my feet was something I’d learned as a kid. However, back then thinking fast didn’t do me much good when playing cops and robbers. Of course, I was always the cop and my pretend partner Billy Radison was always in zombieland. He could never read my silent signals, and we almost always got squirt gunned, loosing the game to the robbers.

I’m lucky that in my real life cops and robbers game, I got one of those really good partners who could always see that “I got a plan” look in my eye.

I straightened my shoulders and gave Hutch ‘the look’. He was the best partner anyone could ever have as he nodded giving me the go-ahead. Hutch would follow my lead.

I rose up from behind the car and yelled.

“Police! Come out with your hands up!” I commanded.

“Fuck off, pigs!”

The gentleman lacked sophistication, like I figured.

Hutch and I hit the dirt, as gunfire was now directed our way. We didn’t fire back, still worried about all the trailers and innocent bystanders. When the bullets stopped flying, I scrambled back up into a crouched position once more, my eyes cutting straight to Hutch’s. He looked a little shaken but waved a hand, reassuring me he was fine.

‘Some plan’,’ he mouthed, and rolled his eyes.

‘What?’ I mouthed back. So, the old cliche ‘come out with your hands up’ only worked in the movies. Was worth the try.

I couldn’t see where the men had gotten to and there was no ground cover. I was certain they were still in there as I could hear rummaging around inside. Plan B– charging the trailer wasn’t a good idea — I knew a bullet could pin one of us before we made it to the front door. No way Hutch and I could apprehend these guys alone. The word ‘alone’ suddenly turned a light bulb on inside my brain. Plan C.

I held up a finger and wiggled it at Hutch letting him know to hold his position.

“This is the Bay City Police Department!” I shouted with as much authority as I could. “Come out now or I’m sending in S.W.A.T.!” I bluffed.

Hutch looked at me wide-eyed, and I shrugged modestly — worth the try, partner.

All was quiet, so I gave the command again. “Come out with your hands in the air!”

No response. I reached around me and found a large rock.

“Hold your fire, men!” I yelled over my shoulder. “Sergeant Harley, hit them with the tear gas!” I stood and lobbed the stone as hard as I could through a half-shattered window. “Get the K-9 unit in there now, Matthews!” I barked like a dog — literally.

Hutch snickered, “Starsky that’s not going to work, that…is…the dumbest –”

Suddenly, two men, and a pale and shaky woman emerged, illuminated by the high beams of Hutch’s car. They stood very still on the porch just outside the shot-up doorway with their hands in the air.

“It was them. They tried to kill me!” The smaller man shouted his accusation.

“I can’t believe you!” Hutch scratched his head as he stood, gun raised and pointed at the suspects. “Nobody move!” he ordered all three of them.

“What the hell is going on?” Leather Pants shouted. “Where’s everybody, where’s the dogs?” he asked, hands nervously shaking in the air and eyes darting around.

I was right at my partner’s back, trying to hide my satisfied smile, just now hearing our backup fast approaching.

“Here they come now.” I hiked a thumb over my shoulder, and gave a deep bark. “Come on, Fancy Pants.” I laughed at his disgusted smile as I gripped the man’s full grain leather lapel, dragged him roughly off the porch and cuffed him.

“You lying bastard!” The woman spit in my eye, her angry gaze nearly drilling a hole in me.

I was glad when Bernie trotted up and slapped the cuffs on her, so I didn’t have to.

“It’s over, folks.” Hutch smiled and waved politely at the few worried residents who still were peeking out from behind curtains and cracked doors. “You’re lucky, pal.” Hutch turned to me and gave my back a hearty pat. “You know what they say about a woman scorned.”

“No, Hutch, what do they say?”

“Hell hath no fury like a lady scorned,” Hutch gave a soft laugh.

“Lucky for me, that…” I pointed a stiff finger at the spitting screaming wild haired demon being shoved into a police cruiser, “…is no lady.”

With both bad guys and one bad girl stuffed securely in the back seat of a black and white, we watched them speed off.

Everything now was quiet as a grave, as Hutch and I walked back to the car. I suddenly felt shaky and weak. Even though there was a cool breeze, I felt hot and I was sweating. Just as I got to the car, I woozily grabbed hold of the door handle. I blinked and shook my head a little, that seemed to clear away the pesky black dots that tried to take over my vision.

“Hey,” Hutch called as he glanced over the dented roof at me.

“‘S all right,” I answered my partner’s unspoken question.

Hutch opened his mouth and I could see the concern written all over his face, and knew what he was about to say. But the speech never came as he looked away.

“You hungry?” He asked when he turned back toward me.

“Yeah.” I smiled, as I knew how hard it was for Blue Eyes to squash the urge to mother me.

“Al’s?” Hutch suggested much to my surprise.

He never wants to eat there. I must look pretty pathetic for him to offer that.

“Sounds terrific,” I said, as we both got back into the car, some of my wooziness subsiding as I thought about our next destination. Maybe I could try and stomach some food.

 

Code 7 Out of Service to eat

Al Barker owned a tiny hot dog stand called Doggie Depot. It was a great little place not far from here along the coast, and nestled under a billboard sign for Papa Pete’s Pizzeria; which I wouldn’t have minded eating at either. Al stayed open late most nights. He was a man who worked hard and enjoyed his job, and his customers. He was a stout man, always dressed in a crisp white apron, his black hair graying; he kept it short and neatly combed over the balding areas.

It didn’t take us long to get there after Hutch radioed us 10-10 — out of service with radio on.

We sat at a picnic table, Hutch on one side, me on the other. Hutch ordered his usual, a plain hot dog that he would never finish, and an iced coffee. I enjoyed a cold soda and a foot-long Dixie Dog smothered in onions and chili. With every bite, I forced a smile on my face, and my woozy feeling in my head, headed for my stomach. I didn’t want blondie to know I was still not up to par, but was quickly rethinking the ‘eat like I’m fine and I will be fine’ idea. Power of positive thinking, my ass. Or in this case, my guts.

“How’s your dog?” Hutch asked, taking half-hearted bites of his own, as if fearing his stomach’s reaction.

“Top Dog,” I snickered. “How’s yours?”

“Starsky, I don’t know what you see in eating something that looks like a Dachshund on a bun.”

“I’m the best hot dog connoisseur around. Nobody can pick ’em like me.”

“Thank God,” Hutch grumbled.

“Mmmmmm,” I licked my lips as I swallowed the last bite. “Ohhhhhhh…” I rolled my eyes with mock pleasure. “Sooooooo good!” I squirmed in my seat. “Ahhhhhhh.”

“Can the act, Starsky! Aren’t you over doing it? It’s just a hot dog.”

“Just a ho dog, Hutch? Just a hot dog? You got to be kidding me? It’s the very foundation of this country. A national treasure. Why, did you know they say the hot dog originated in New York around the 1860’s, and that 150 million Americans eat hot dogs on the Fourth of July, and that President Franklin D. Roosevelt served hot dogs to King George VI of England during his 1939 visit to the US? And let’s not forget, the world record for eating hot dogs is 53 and a half. Bun and all in 12 minutes. Twelve minutes, Hutch.”

“Starsky, that’s ridiculous.” Hutch took what was left of his dog, wrapped it in a napkin and prepared to toss it into a nearby trashcan. “I can’t eat this.”

“Good — more for me, hand yours over.”

“Starsk.” Hutch waved his dog in the air. “Do you know what they put in that hot diggity dog? These things didn’t originate anywhere but in some evil mad scientist’s laboratory.” With that, he launched his half eaten hot dog into the trash.

“Making the world a better place, one evil hot dog at a time right, Hutch?” I stuffed another bite into my mouth, swiping at the chili juice that dribbled down my chin I tried not to think about the ache in my stomach. I’d die before I told him that the thought of trying to choke down his half-eaten hot dog would have made me puke. Not tonight, but very soon, I’d be back up to full speed with my old eating habits. I grinned at the thought.

“Starsky, you’re impossible, besides, no one is going to believe your crazy story about how some guy could eat that many hot dogs in twelve –”

“I hate to break it to you Hutchinson, but Starsky’s right. It is a world’s record.”

“Oh, wonderful.” Hutch frowned and waved a hand. “Another hot dog fanatic.”

I looked up to see a man in his late forties, with thick eyebrows, bushy blond curls, a pointy woodpecker styled nose, and a crooked creepy kind of smile.

“Have a seat, Cornflake,” I said, moving over a little so the man could sit next to me.

Cornflake was one of our regular snitches. He looked like the sort of guy your parents always warned you to stay away from — but he was harmless.

“Thank you, Starsky,” Cornflake said as he politely tipped his hat at me and sat down.

He was an odd bird, but a real gentleman. He always wore the same brown felt bowler hat with red side feather, tattered tan suit, and chocolate-colored pinstriped tie. He carried around a paper bag, but it wasn’t filled with candy, it was filled with his half-full bottle of Southern Comfort.

“Ohhh….mmmm….soooo…gooood!” Cornflake smiled around his fully loaded foot-long.

“Oh brother.” Hutch stood. “Starsk, you ready?”

“Yeah.” I stuffed my last bite into my mouth and started to stand. “Ouch!” Cornflake had just booted me in the leg, and I sat back down. “I’m ready, but Cornflake’s not,” I mumbled, as I took the note he’d pulled from his jacket pocket and slipped into my hand.

Hutch sighed and gave a roll of his eyes. We both knew Cornflake didn’t get his name for nothing. His well-paid-for tips oftentimes ended up being only slivers of information, like chasing a single cornflake floating aimlessly around in a bowl of milk. He also often got days, months, even years mixed up. Out of the one hundred and seven tips he’d handed Hutch and I over the years, I think only twelve of them were good. But that’s twelve more notches on our gun grips than we had before, and we were obligated by our consciences to check out every tip.

We learned the hard way, however. The first few times we took Cornflake’s word for ‘gold’ we had called in all the bandwagons — only to find the cocaine bust was nothing more than a panty raid. The second and third times, Dobey had written us up. Told us the next time we played hokey pokey we’d better know our left from our right. Now, whenever we checked out a tip given to us by Cornflake, we went in slow and easy.

I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach this was going to be yet another spoon chase.

I read the note, being sure to keep the paper under the picnic table and not in full view. Cornflake was very sensitive about the word ‘snitch’.

“You know, Cornflake the last few notes you gave me weren’t much help.”

“This is one hot deal,” Cornflake mumbled, extremely involved with his food.

“That good?” I questioned.

“You better hurry,” he said waving a hand dismissively.

I crunched the note up and stuffed it into my jacket pocket, and exchanged it for Cornflake’s going rate.

“Bawwwwwwww!” Belching loudly, I slipped a twenty spot under the table.

Cornflake did the gentlemanly thing — he took it.

“You’re excused,” Cornflake said, going back to his food as Hutch and I walked off.

“So, partner…what’d we pay too much for this time? Lint?” Hutch asked as we both got back into the car.

“That’s Cornflake’s best jacket.” I defended my fellow hot dog lover as I pulled the crinkled note from my pocket, unfurled it, and read aloud. “432 Waterfront Street. Dock 16. Biggest White Elephant sale yet — and the junk is prime.”

“Do we believe him?” Hutch glowered as he started the engine.

“Hey,” I said, giving his shoulder a hearty pat. “When in doubt–”

“Check it out,” Hutch finished as he put the car in drive and headed us toward the warehouse. “Call dispatch, let them know…”

“Sounds good to me, partner,” I said, reaching for the mike.

 

Code 6 Out of Vehicle for Investigation

I’d radioed us 10-38, letting dispatch know our destination. Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the warehouse, parked near the docks, and exited the car, guns drawn. It was the dead of night and a wayward breeze drifted in off the bay. The scene was an old warehouse with a large empty weed-infested parking lot near a dilapidated dock. A long-forgotten wood-sided, empty old boat, still tied to a post, rocked lazily back and forth. Most of its white and blue striped paint had flaked away, and half the hull’s planks were missing and the other half rotted. However, she must have been one hell of a boat in her day. I bet with a little…

“Forget it, Starsk, stick to the smaller scales. String and model glue are more in your budget.”

“Spoil sport,” I sniffled.

Hutch was right. The reality of this job isn’t always as exciting and glamorous as the media likes to make it, and it certainly doesn’t pay for luxury items like boats. Policing the community is a lot of the work. It’s not often you get solid leads — most times you just gotta piece the parts together. Sort of like building a house made out of tongue depressors and held together by false hope. All it’ll take to crumble your hard work is a single puff of smoke or some shyster lawyer.

“This is completely against doctor’s orders,” I complained.

“What? Being out in the dampness?”

“No, being out in the dark.”

“Let’s go check it out.” Hutch patted my stomach for reassurance.

The warehouse door was wide-open, hanging off its hinges. Hutch and I paused at the entrance, and he cast his flashlight’s beam in a wide circle. It was a place like any other place we’d been in a thousand other times before, but I felt uncomfortable this time — okay, so it was spooky.

We walked inside and I blinked, adjusting to the light from the flashlight. Place looked like a dark, wet, cave. Strands of cobwebs hung from the rafters. The floor was cement and felt slimy beneath my feet. Above us, I could hear the fluttering of wings.

“Pigeons,” Hutch causally informed.

“Or bats,” I said, as we continued slowly.

“You’re a weird guy, Starsky.”

“I like you too, Hutch.”

The building was square, one huge room with nothing in it. Our footfalls seemed to boom, like someone beating with a stick against a hollow barrel, adding to the ghostly feel of the place. This must have been some sort of storage facility at one time, although for what, I didn’t know. I walked stiffly next to Hutch, noting the colorfully painted graffiti streaked walls and thinking this wouldn’t make a great hiding place. There were no doors, no rooms, no crevices.

Suddenly, a large white blur with wings fluttered in a frenzied way in front of my eyes. “Shit!” I startled and flattened myself against a nearby wall.

“Moth,” Hutch scoffed.

“You sure?”

“Come to think of it — no.” Hutch smiled. “Just when you thought it was safe to go poking around in the big dark warehouse again, looking for sleazy characters, moths and vam–”

“Hutch!”

“Okay. Okay, buddy,” Hutch snickered.

“Smart ass,” I sighed, he was really enjoying this adventure.

The air swirled damp and moldy, it made my eyes tear and my nose itch. A breeze blew through the building and a thin cottony wisp tickled my already itchy nose.

“Ewww.” I tried to brush the strand away but it stuck to my face.

“Starsky, what is it now?”

“Spider we–we — Aaaaah…Aaaaah…Aaaaah…”

A steady finger was swiftly placed right under my nose and my sneeze was held back.

“Hey, thanks, Hutch. You really have the magic touch,” I said.

“One tries one’s best,” Hutch flatly replied.

We walked further into the wide expanses of the building, Hutch’s flashlight beaming all around.

“Looks like Cornflake flaked out on us again. No surprise there.” Hutch’s voice was low, but bounced loudly off every wall. “Nothing in here but big rats.”

“Yeah,” I grumbled. “With our luck we’ll get fanged to death by one of them.”

“Oh, Starsky, you have got to be kidding. You watch way too many movies. You’re more likely to be fanged to death by a vampire before we ever even see one vampire rat.” Hutch chuckled, and poked a finger into my rib cage — I jumped, the hair on the back of my neck rising like porcupine needles.

“Funny, Hutch.” I edged closer. “Really funny.”

He knew damn well rats were a dime a dozen and vampires only came out during a full moon.

“Relax, Starsk.”

I couldn’t relax, keeping my eyes peeled through the darkness for a sign of anything. But there was nothing. No vampires, no rats, no giant man-eating cockroaches, no bad guys. Even the pigeons or bats, whichever, hid from our sight.

“Starsky, it’s all clear,” Hutch finally concluded what we both knew to be true. “Nothing’s going on here. Not now, anyway. We’ll tell dispatch to send a patrol car over here every couple of hours to keep watch. Let’s go see if we can get out the back.”

“Let’s not, Hutch. We can just go back the way we came.”

“Don’t worry, buddy. I see a door.” Hutch swiftly moved a few steps ahead of me and disappeared into the gloom.

“Hutch. Hutch!” I called, my heart fluttering with panic, and feet tingling with fear. “Wait!” I hurried to catch up to him and edged close to his side.

Hutch chuckled, “Still afraid of the dark, huh, buddy boy?”

“No.” I pasted a smile on my face. “Just don’t want you to fall prey to any — any –”

All of a sudden, a rat skittered across the floor in front of us.

“Big rats?” Hutch laughed.

“Hutch, would you look at the size of that thing,” I gulped, just as we exited the building. “That’s got to be the largest rat I’ve ever seen.”

“Uh, Starsk,” Hutch said pointing the beam of the flashlight off to his right. “Second largest.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

 

Code 10 Bomb Threat

Back to patrolling the streets, I sat once again in the passenger seat watching out the window as the shadows danced along the sidewalks under the streetlights glow. It was quiet again, only the dispatcher’s voice occasionally breaking in over the radio — with no calls yet that concerned us. I honestly was hoping for nothing more to happen tonight but I knew that was a long shot. We’d been out here six hours and had six more to go before I could go back to my apartment, take a hot shower, eat a cold pizza, and get some long needed sleep.

A code ten suddenly squawked over the radio. 723 Prospect. The Scarlet Cabaret. Best little all night porn Theater on Bay City.

Hutch and I exchanged a look. We usually didn’t get involved with bomb threats but knew how shorthanded the department was — besides, maybe we could help. I snatched the mike and radioed us in route.

We pulled up to the theater; two black and whites and the Bomb Squad were parked outside. The front of the building was tapped off already, and a crowd of people stood behind the yellow ‘do not cross’ banner that was guarded by a few of Bay Cities finest Auxiliary Police. Some of the onlookers had seemed scared, while other’s appeared angry. I’d be angry too, they were missing a great all night marathon: Sweet Cherry Rain.

“How do you want to handle this?” Hutch asked as we exited the car and headed side by side toward the building.

“Fast and easy,” I replied.

We entered the theater, our badges out of our pockets identifying ourselves to the head of the Bomb Squad, Jim Mesa. Jim was a tall, thin, blond, man with scarred fingers and washed-out blue eyes. If it weren’t for the glasses, the deep scar above his right eye, and his toothpick fetish, he’d almost be a dead ringer for Hutch.

I’d met Mesa only twice, but of those two times I’d come to know him as a hard-nosed cynical man with a good record. A roll up your sleeves and get to work, no time for feelings or heartfelt talks, kind of guy. Hutch wasn’t crazy about the man, said he wore his boxers like his compassion — too tight. I told Hutch maybe that’s what helped maintain his mental equipment in the right place. I laughed, but Hutch didn’t find my humor funny. Anyway, I liked Mesa – after all, he was left-handed.

“What you got, Mesa?” Hutch asked.

“We received a call, from a male voice stating there was a bomb in the theater set to go off at four am.,” Mesa said.

With scarred fingers that I could only imagine how’d he’d gotten, he plucked out another toothpick from his vest pocket and pushed it between his lips. Guy must spend a small fortune on toothpicks; guess it was cheaper than cigarettes or cigars. I inwardly cringed as I pictured the Mesa choking to death on that thing one day.

“Could be something could be nothing,” Mesa mumbled, as I watched the toothpick dance in the corner of his mouth.

Hutch grabbed my wrist and looked at my watch. “That’s only fifteen minutes from now.”

“Right! And we’re short on manpower. I wouldn’t normally have two detectives looking for a bomb but –”

“What are we looking for?” I asked in a rush.

“You’ll know it — if you find it,” Mesa said, forcing a smile.

“Terrific.”

“Just don’t touch the device. You find something out of the ordinary; you call one of my men over. You’ve got ten minutes then we clear this place out and hope it stays standing.”

Hutch and I swiftly joined in with the other officers, all who were searching frantically. Some, on hands and knees, some, up and down each aisle, while others checked out the film room and the concessions.

Hutch and I had turned left down a long narrow hallway. At the end of the hallway were two doors. One marked office, one marked cleaning supplies.

“I got the office,” I said drawing my gun and jiggling the door handle.

“Locked. Shit,” I muttered my curse knowing time was slipping away.

I glanced at my watch as I turned on my heels. “Hutch, we only got –”

“Starsky!” Hutch gasped and I heard the clatter of stainless steel hitting the floor recognizing the sound right off — my partner’s .357 falling out of his hand.

I whirled around and my spine went rigid seeing a large armed man, in a short-sleeved black tee shirt, sporting a soothing picture of a sunrise tattoo on his right forearm. He was anything but soothing and calm having just pulled Hutch into the closet with him, the muzzle of his gun dug deep into my partner’s side. He had the look of a man who’d been pushed to the edge — a real crazy person. I assumed he was the guy who claimed there was a bomb.

“Police freeze!” I yelled loudly, at the same time charging three steps forward and using my foot as a doorstop before the guy could pull the door shut.

“I’ll shoot him,” Sunrise growled. “Do you believe me?”

Many things can drive a man to violence, and Sunrise was clearly insane. His thin, long hair was soaked with sweat, and his eyes were wild with panic, or hyped-up on drugs — the lasers nearly drilled a hole in me.

“Where’s the bomb!” I shouted my frustration.

“Yell any louder and it will go off,” he smirked. “You didn’t answer my question. I’ll shoot him,” Sunrise said without any feeling of remorse. “Do you believe me?”

I nodded. “Yes. Yes, I believe you. Just take it easy. We’re police officers.” I swallowed as I tried to keep a note of confidence in my tone. I could tell this man’s heart was cold and full of contempt, but I tried to reach him anyway. “That’s my partner you have there.” I stared at Hutch. “He means a lot to me.” Hutch raised a brow, his lips emitting a soft smile. “Look, man, you’ve got yourself backed into a closet. This place is full of cops. You’re not going anywhere. Especially if you harm that officer. You…shoot…him… all gun’s are going to be blazing your way. Do you believe me?” I nodded toward the sound of feet scrambling behind me down the narrow corridor, and the echo of guns cocking. “Let’s work something out,” I said, as I took charge of the situation.

“Stay back!” Without looking I held up a firm hand, directing the officers in the hallway behind me.

“Buddy,” I made eye contact with the suspect once more. “You look like you could use a — a drink — a cup of coffee. How ’bout it, huh?”

Not to mention a few screws tightened, I thought to myself being sure to keep a friendly smile.

“Starsky, what he hell’s going on?” Mesa asked from behind.

“I’ll handle this, he’s my partner.” I glanced over my shoulder and leveled a fierce gaze toward Mesa, he spit out his toothpick and said no more.

“Keep them away!” Sunrise screamed, I turned around to see him drag Hutch further into the closet.

“You don’t want to do this,” Hutch said calmly.

“Don’t talk!” The man’s knuckles where white as bone as he held tight to the handle of his weapon digging it deeper into Hutch’s rib cage.

“Mmmmm,” Hutch winced.

“Keep your mouth shut!” Sunrise spat like a cornered cat.

“What do you want?” I asked softly, still keeping one hand up, feeling the heat behind me, knowing every man’s weapon was trained on the suspect and my partner.

“I’m getting out of here.” Sunrise flattened his back against the far wall being sure to use Hutch as a human shield. “Tell them to go away!”

I took a step into the large walk-in-closet, noting the cleaning chemicals, brooms, and cans of old paint on the shelves to my right.

“Stop! Don’t move another inch or I’ll shoot him, and get them out of here!” Sunrise was becoming more agitated.

“Mesa, take your men and get the hell out of here,” I instructed again in a low demanding tone. No one made a move. “Get out of here!” I snapped, never taking my eyes off Hutch.

I heard the shuffle of feet backing away, but knew they hadn’t gone far.

“Why are you doing this?” I stalled.

“My cheating wife. She’s in that porn house with her lover. Comes here every night. I’m going to take care of them once and for all…and I want the world to know about it.”

“Along with all the other innocent people? Their all out of here now. Safe. You’re only hurting yourself.” I tried to reason.

“Nobody is safe and nobody is innocent!”

“My partner is. Right, partner?”

“Right,” Hutch said nervously.

“Don’t you think you should get out of here too, before you get blown to bits?” I questioned.

The crazed man shook his head; he hadn’t thought this through very well. I guess it’s true what they say about love being blind, it was deaf, and dumb too.

“I want to be here. Need to hear the explosion. See the fire. Know they’re dead.” The man tightened his grip on Hutch. “They ruined my life… now I’m going to ruin theirs.”

“Two minutes.” I heard Mesa’s voice, not far off.

“Starsk, go on,” Hutch said softly. “Get out of here.”

I glanced at Hutch, and then Sunrise. “I’m staying.”

“That’s not a good idea, partner.”

“I told you to keep your mouth shut!” Sunrise hissed in Hutch’s ear, his finger trembling against the trigger.

I was getting nervous. I had to get Hutch out of there. My first instinct was to rush in hard, but I knew I couldn’t risk that. I forced myself to think, cutting my eyes to the shelf not far away from where Hutch and the suspect stood. My attention zeroed in on several large bottles of Ammonia.

Bingo!

I made eye contact with my partner.

“You heard the man, Hutch –” I said, darting my eyes to the right then back again. “Keep your mouth shut, and your eyes while you’re at it!”

Hutch’s eyebrows flew up in confusion, but he knows when I have a plan, and he knows to do exactly as I say when I say it — even if he doesn’t understand why.

I kept my face blank and my body stiff. Only my eyes moved, first to the target, then to the creep who had my partner.

“So — if you can’t have a happy ending with your wife no one will–” I paused and took a breath. “Is that…right!” I shouted.

On cue, Hutch ducked his head to the right as I pulled the trigger hitting one of the Ammonia bottles, sending the liquid spraying into the eyes of the suspect.

“Ahhhhh!” Sunrise screamed and dropped his weapon.

Before I could move in, Hutch was up on his feet, and shoving the large man up against a wall. “Spread your legs!” he ordered as he kicked the man’s feet apart. “Put your hands on top of your head.”

I could hear the fury in Hutch’s voice, and a shiver went up my spine. I bent down and picked up the man’s gun and then my partner’s, while Hutch patted Sunrise down and pulled his hands behind his back.

“Owe, that hurts,” the man complained as the cuffs snicked tight around his writs.

“Not as much as being blown to bits,” I said getting in the man’s face, noting his bloodshot and tearing eyes.

“Starsk?” Hutch frowned. “The bomb?”

“Was a crude homemade device,” Mesa said leaning against the door frame of the closet arms crossed over his chest. “Blasting caps, and simple wiring. Any twelve-year-old following the instructions out of a science book could have made it. We found it under one of the seats.”

“I’ll build another one,” the man hissed angrily. “Going to pop that no good son-of-a- bitch, and my wife and send this place to the moon.”

“Pal,” I sneered. “Where you’re going you won’t even get the chance to pop a paper bag full of air,” I said resisting the urge to cold-cock him. “Come on!” I grasped the crazed bomber by his shirt collar and pointed him toward the door. “Here, Mesa, he’s all yours.” I roughly handed the man off.

“Thanks for the happy ending,” Mesa said, taking charge of the man he began to read Sunrise his rights as he walked him down the hallway.

Hutch stepped silently past me and leaned up against the wall out in the hallway. I holstered my gun and stood next to him. He looked a little shaky.

“Hey.” My voice soft. “He hurt you?” I brushed imaginary dust off his shoulder, and handed Hutch his weapon.

“No.” Hutch shook his head, whooshed out a huge sigh, and dropped his head back against the wall. “Hmm.” He rubbed the spot on his ribcage where the suspect’s gun had been.

“You’re sure?” I asked, as I pushed a sweaty lock of hair off his forehead.

“I’m sure.” Hutch took a breath, and stepped away from the wall. “Wh-what a night,” he stuttered.

“It ain’t over ’till the whistle blows, partner.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Hutch said, holstering his gun and heading down the hallway.

I stared at his tan sport jacket as I followed behind him. His shoulders were rigid struggling to hold himself in check. There’s a big heart behind my partner’s badge. He feels everything deeply — deeper than most. I worried that big heart of his would break before it’s time. This cop’s life isn’t an easy one. We see it all. The cruelty. The inhumanity. The fear.

I secretly wondered how long it would be before one of us cracked; like a fissure running through rock. Or until the day came when one of us would fall into the other’s pool of blood with a loud splash, floating up to the top like a dime store goldfish in a fishbowl.

It took my father and his partner fifteen years to burnout. It all ended in the echo of twenty-one rifle shots and the honorable snapping sound of white-gloved hands – I didn’t want Hutch and I to go that way.

I know I often thought of us going out like Butch and Sundance. But what I really saw was two old guys stretched out on lawn chairs, roasting hot dogs over an open fire pit, drinking beer, and remembering when.

 

Code 14 Resume normal Operation

We drove at the death-defying speed of ten mph down 58th and Prospect. It’s a crude area, a small strip known to most of us on the force as Paradise Lane. However, the place wasn’t filled with the usual things you’d find in paradise, like sunny beaches, blue skies, and sunshine. Nope, instead Paradise Lane was filled with things, like sex shops, sex shows, whips and chains.

The area was routinely patrolled, for what good it does — I don’t know. By day, the streets were nearly empty, not much to the area, but by night the rundown apartments, blinking neon red motel lights, and old men wearing raincoats, some trashing some flashing — it all came to life.

Here, you lived fast and died young. It’s a hairy neighborhood. Where you can blow ten bucks or should I say, get blown for ten bucks. Within a three-block radius, you could find it all. Slimy gutters, sex, drugs, porn, and fresh faced girls that should still be home watching Sesame Street.

We’d been going in circles around the area for thirty minutes now almost making me forget about the gun shoved in my partner’s ribs that could have gone off any second. It’s not much of a diversion but it would have to do.

The silence was broken when I heard a man and a woman screaming at one another. I looked out my window but didn’t see anyone.

“Damn it!” Hutch slammed a fist to the steering wheel.”

“Whatcha got?”

“It’s Duzee!” he growled. “One of Bay Cities most upstanding citizens,” Hutch said using a phony tone of voice.

Our code 14 didn’t last long before turning into a code 37 — Aggravated assault.

Duzee was the sleazeball who kept the ladies in business. His motto. ‘Keep the girls working hard, and the guys will come.’ Nice pun, isn’t it? To Duzee, women were just merchandise, and if you were looking to score a freebie you could forget it — Duzee didn’t believe in charitable events. He’s a pimp and proud of it. Doesn’t even try to hide the fact from his own mother. In fact, he’d probably turn his own mother out if he thought she could bring in a buck. We’d busted the guy plenty of times, but it sometimes is a twisted system and somehow he always managed to get off.

Hutch stopped the car, jumped out before me, and headed around the corner of the Cee-Ray Motel. I was hot on his heels and it didn’t take me long to see what had my partner so fired up. Duzee had a firm hold of Charlotte’s arms and he was shaking her hard, demanding she get back to work — or else.

Charlotte was an old timer, who’d been out on the streets a long time. I was certain she’d long past her shelf life, but Duzee kept her on anyway. Her face was etched with worry lines and the edges of her dark brown hair were highlighted with gray. She had a soft warm smile, but her eyes always looked empty – like she’d given up many years ago. She looked like she was in her early fifties, but her rap sheet said she was thirty-four.

“I told you to get back to work, Charlotte!” Duzee spat in her face, shaking her savagely. “You haven’t pulled in anything the last three days.” His flattened right hand came hard across Charlotte’s face, sending her down to her hands and knees to the gutter.

Like a bullet shot out of a gun, Hutch slammed into Duzee, twisted his arm behind his back and shoved his face against the side of the building, bloodying up his nose.

“What have I told you about getting too rough with the ladies, scumbag!” Hutch snarled. “How about I stick you in a dress and put you in a cell with …”

“You’ve got to be kidding! This is police brutality!” Duzee grunted in pain. “Hutchinson, you know my lawyers will have me outta there before you finished the paperwork.”

“Go after her again and find out if I’m kidding or not!” Hutch’s eyes flashed fierce with anger.

“That bitch’s been giving out free buffets all week, if she don’t start charging regular price I’m going to beat the shit out of her.”

“Now that’s classy,” I said, hands behind my back and fingers locked I strolled up and stood beside my overheated partner. “Don’t you think that’s classy, Hutch?”

“Nope!” Hutch sternly stated, as he flipped the man around to face him.

Hutch’s face was beat red, he was sweating, and shaking hard with anger. That partner of mine can pierce a person’s psyche, reducing them to a puddle of gray soupy mush in two seconds flat. The only person who never seemed to be affected by Hutch’s eye piercing was Dobey.

I decided I better get between Hutch and the unsavory gentleman in his grasp. I wormed my way in, and Hutch backed off as I got real close to Duzee’s face. I gave the man a white toothy grin, but made sure my eyes told a different story, as he squirmed under my scrutiny.

“You all right, Charlotte?” I heard Hutch say and watched out of the corner of my eye as he crouched down beside the woman.

It was just like Hutch to go from red-hot fury to soft as an over washed tee shirt in a split second.

With my hands still clasped behind my back I calmly said, “You get out of here, and don’t you come near her again.”

I knew my threat wouldn’t hold up long. Charlotte worked for Duzee and until she felt it was safe to leave, he’d always be around.

“Starsky, you think you’re real tough behind that badge and gun don’t you?” Duzee stated in an arrogant tone.

“You’ve got that all wrong, scum. You should see me in action without the badge and gun,” I said using the same steely calm voice. “I’m much tougher.”

Duzee gave me an evil look, but said no more. I took a step back allowing him his getaway.

“You don’t need to be here, Hutch.” I turned to see Charlotte still on the ground her and Hutch appeared to be searching for something.

“You can get away from him, Charlotte. You don’t have to stay here.”

“I- I can’t go. I’m his forever,” she said with great sadness in her voice.

“Hey, what are you two looking for?” I crouched down beside them.

“The charm my grandmother gave me. He ripped it off my chain and threw it on the ground. It has to be here somewhere,” Charlotte sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye.

“What’s it look like?” I asked rummaging through the trash-covered ground, until Hutch and I bumped foreheads.

“Ouch!” We chimed together.

“Starsky,” Hutch snipped, as we both rubbed at the sore spot. “I got this area. It’s a gold seashell. Look over there.” Hutch pointed a finger a few inches away.

Charlotte laughed out loud. “Which one of you is the Skipper and which is Gilligan?”

“You got us all wrong. I’m the Professor — he’s the chimp,” Hutch smirked.

“I was always partial to Mary Ann,” I said poker-faced, as I continued to search for the pendent I heard Hutch telling Charlotte again how she didn’t have to stay here.

“Duzee’s Mr. Good Enough, Hutch. Unless you want to be my Mr. Perfect.”

I looked up to catch my partner’s eye. The sorrow I saw there was one that will keep me awake for some nights to come.

Hutch turned to Charlotte, cupped her chin, and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I wish that was possible,” he gently said, then went back to searching.

Charlotte had taken a liking to Hutch awhile back, and he knew it. It broke his heart to see her struggle through life like she did. He wanted her away from this place, but it’s a redline my partner won’t ever cross.

My hand ran over something small and round. “I found it!” I shouted in triumph as I stood and placed the pendant reverently in Charlotte’s hand.

“Thank you so much!” Charlotte muttered her gratitude to me, but she only had eyes for Hutch.

My gallant partner lifted her closed hand that held the pendant and lightly brushed his lips over her skin, and then we left Charlotte standing there in her reality, as we returned to ours.

Back on patrol, I noticed how super-quiet Hutch had gotten. His shoulders were tense and he hunched forward over the steering wheel as he peered intently out the windshield. I couldn’t help but think he looked several years older than he had just a few short minutes ago. In fact, he looked exhausted — heart and soul exhausted.

“Hutch,” I barely whispered.

“Yeah, Starsk?” He briefly glanced my way.

“Nothin'” I gave an encouraging smile. “Just checkin’.”

“Keep checking, buddy.” Hutch smiled.

Hutch always understands all that I can’t put into words.

 

187 HOMICIDE

You’re first reaction when approaching a crime scene is to turn and run. It’s a nightmare none of us wants to walk into. The images and silent screams haunt you in your sleep. Yet, here we are in the midst of the nightmare — doing our jobs.

I exhaled sharply, and slowed my breathing as we approached the scene. This was the part of the job we all hated– but had to do. The crime scene. This is where it all starts. Where the next bad guy is added to our long and growing list. I lagged behind Hutch a few steps. It was his turn to take point, as I stopped to take in the scene he flagged down the coroner.

The air was moist, and a chill came over me. I could almost smell the blood that I knew had been spilled here. By day the swampy area was flooded with sunlight, pretty wildflowers, and life. By night, shadows, predatory animals, and the stench of death. Tonight, the marshland was flooded with the spotlights from three black and white units, half a dozen cops, an ambulance, a coroner, and a maze of ‘do not cross’ police line tape.

The dead woman still lay at the edge of the swamp, black water ebbing and flowing beneath her, gently rocking her back and forth. The water seemed to shimmer by the light of the full moon and the slight breeze made the surrounding trees rustle in an eerie dance.

The air was a buzz with softly spoken words. Words like:

‘It’s not fair. Probably never catch the creep. I have a daughter her age. What good are we doing here? I just want to go home and hug my kids. I remember when I was a rookie.’

The voices became distant, as my hands began to sweat. I swiped them across the thighs of my faded blue jeans as I watched the constant motion of the men around me:

There was T.J. A rookie unable to think of anything else to do but vomit behind a bush — I couldn’t blame him. I wanted to do the same, but years of practice taught me to keep the nausea tucked away and control my emotional state. What did that say about me? A K-9 unit, Officer Fairfax and his dog Justice, a ninety-five pound German shepherd nosed around, obviously not having any luck, while an unknown coroner’s aid paced back in forth in front of the coroner’s wagon sucking on a Slow Poke, his gurney ready and waiting for the moment the body would be taken away from this awful place.

Everyone had a job to do — and they did their job the best they could.

My eyes fell upon the body. She was covered in mud, her long dark hair soaked in rancid water — a tangled mess that covered half her face, while one dark wide-open eye seemed to still glitter with life. Even through all the mud, you could tell her fingernails were well manicured, polished pink, and she wore a fancy gold watch on her right wrist. From what I could see of her clothing she was smartly dressed — this was a classy lady. A classy lady who now lay stiff, cold, and dead in a depressing dismal place — and we had no idea why.

“What else have you got, Martin?” I heard Hutch ask.

Martin was a seasoned coroner, but looked more like a Bassett Hound, with huge sad eyes peering at the world from behind thick horn rimmed glasses.

“Short story, she’s been missing for four days, daughter of a wealthy bank executive turns up here.” I watched Martin wave a hand over the area a disgusted look on his face. “Couple of kids out past curfew found her. She was raped and strangled to death,” Martin sighed. “You’re looking at every parent’s nightmare, Hutch,” he added sadly.

“What else?” Hutch said in a flat tone

“Same ol’ story, Hutch, hope to have more evidence after the autopsy.”

Hutch bent down to get a closer look at the woman, and I could see the slight shake in his shoulders as he crouched next to her. After a moment, he ran a slow hand over his face and twisted on his heels to glance over at me.

Just once — why can’t we get there before this happens? Before they end up evidence on a cold steel table.

“What about the kids?” Hutch looked back to Martin.

“They don’t know anything, Hutch. Scared out of their minds. They’re waiting in the squad car to be taken home to their parents.”

Hutch hung his head, massaged the back of his neck, then stood and slowly walked over to talk to the kids; who sat in the backseat of a cruiser with tears rolling down their faces.

I folded my arms tightly across my chest as I started to scout and dig around, try to see what I could find. Wandering through the milky haze of the swampy area, it didn’t take long to find nothing — not so much as a muddy footprint. Feeling my hot dog slosh around inside my gut, I strolled up to the water’s edge, stuffed my sweating hands into my jacket pockets, and gazed out over the shallow bog.

Just to my right sat a large bullfrog. Toes splayed upon the large leaf he perched on and big round yellow eyes staring intently at me. A million scenarios of what happened here raced through my mind as I watched that frog. Somehow, I got the feeling he knew a whole lot about what went on here. What if that frog could talk? What if I could just hear what he had to say? Bring him into the station for questioning. Get a composite sketch. Gain a little leverage, ease this family’s pain.

“Tell me everything you know,” I said, as the frog still stared lazily at me.

“Ribbit.”

He was probably the only witness to a brutal murder — too bad Prince Charming wasn’t talking.

“It’ll go a lot easier on yourself if you cooperate,” I said, my hands clenched in fists inside my pockets. “You know what that sick pervert looks like — don’t you?” I swallowed, past the scratchiness in my throat and gave that damn frog my best interrogation room glare. “You better spill it if you know what’s good for you.”

“Hey,” The word was just a breathy whisper and the hand on my back soft.

“Huh?” I felt my heart leap into my throat and I jerked spasmodically.

“Easy, just me, Starsk,” Hutch said soothingly. “Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody,” I said firmly as I kept my eyes on that damn ‘know it all’ frog.

Prince Charming seemed to smile at me. Then ‘poof’ he was gone as he slipped off his leaf and disappeared into the black mucky water. My clenched fists went limp, and I suddenly could feel Hutch’s tension. I turned toward my partner — storm-cloud eyes stared off into space.

“You okay?” I asked.

“What a horrible place to end your life,” Hutch said, sadly shaking his head.

“It’s a fine place…if you’re a frog,” I muttered with disgust.

“What’s that, Starsk?” Hutch cocked a curious eyebrow.

“Nothin’. Come on, buddy,” I slung an arm around his shoulder and we both walked numbly back to the car.

 

10-107 Suspicious person

It was early morning but still dark out, and our shift was just about to end. I had this great idea. It involved me, a hot shower, a bowl of soup, some special herb tea with lemon, and a warm-hearted partner taking pity on me. Sometimes a guy just needs to be fussed over and Hutch makes a great mother hen.

“Shifts almost over.” I coughed and cleared my throat. “Sure could use a hot bowl of soup, and –” I coughed harder into my hand. If I played my cards right, Hutch would come through.

“Work on that act some more, buddy,” Hutch laughed. “You almost got me.”

“Thanks.” I sniffled.

Dispatch had radioed us about a 10-107 — a suspicious person, lurking around the apartment building at 14208 Vince Boulevard.

Before we pulled up to the location, Hutch cut the headlights as he parked the car flush against the curb. Silently, we existed, quietly closing the vehicle doors, guns drawn. In this job you learn fast anything goes, and you should always err on the side of caution.

“Probably just a false alarm, someone who locked themselves out of their place,” I whispered to Hutch.

“Just be careful. You take the back.” My partner took point.

I nodded and we split up. I rounded the building and found myself in a dark parking lot. There was only one streetlight which didn’t offer much lighting as it was a few hundred yards away. The building and cars seemed to match the deep watery blue and green shadows of the night. I hated the dark, and I hated when Hutch and I had to split up. Not having him in my sights made me wound tight. There were quit a few cars parked back there, and I went up and down each aisle, searching for that one thing that didn’t belong. As I rounded the far corner heading back toward the front of the building, I stopped short and crouched behind a dumpster. Before me was a double door garage one side open. I strained to see better but couldn’t.

Staying in a crouched position, I slowly slid out from the cover of the dumpster, and made my way toward a crop of bushes facing the front of the garage. I finally could see what was going on. A white van was backed up close to the open half of the garage door while two suspicious men wearing dark clothing were loading the vehicle up with what appeared to be stereo equipment. I could just make out a third silhouette behind the driver’s wheel and the engine was running.

I crept closer; my 9mm raised in their direction, taking my shooting stance I yelled, “Think you’re forgetting to take the kitchen sink.” The two men spun around in utter surprise. “Police, hands up!” I ordered

Everything after that happened in one fluid timeless motion. Hutch had just come around the corner and our eyes met for a fraction of a second. The suspects dropped their load and scrambled into the back of the van as it tore off its back doors swinging wildly in the wind. It was then I saw a forth shadow emerge a few yards behind Hutch — obviously the one left behind. There was no mistaking the barrel of the gun that was pointed at my partner’s head. I didn’t have time to aim and shoot, besides I’d be shooting at a shadow, and could miss, and hit Hutch instead.

“Hutch!” I yelled and rushed toward him like an all-star linebacker.

My hands outstretched, I pushed Hutch off balance, just as a bullet whizzed past my ear. Hutch fell to the ground, but I couldn’t stop my momentum as my right arm went straight through the garage window that had been behind him.

Without thinking, I recoiled and drug my arm back out the broken glass, and whirled to aim my gun at the shadow shooter. My only goal — to protect my partner. I heard something metal clatter to the ground, and the sound of running feet faded off into the distance.

“Where’d he go?” Hutch shouted, just now getting back to his feet, and aiming his gun in the same direction. “Starsk, do you see him?”

“He’s gone,” I said clicking the safety on my weapon. “You get the plates on the van?”

“No, it all happened too fast,” Hutch said in a deflated tone. “Damn, Starsk.” My partner winced and rubbed his elbow. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

“I saved your life, dummy,” I said, taking a step forward. I was feeling a little woozy from my cold again, but ignored it. “We’re even now.”

“Oh really, Gordo? I think I had the situation under…” Hutch stopped his rant.

I raised my gun and shot a nervous look around the area. “You see him? Where’d he go?”

“Long gone. He tore off down the street. Starsky, what did you do?” I turned to see a startled look on Hutch’s face.

“What? What’s wrong?” I glanced down at what had gripped my partner’s attention, and swallowed hard.

My windbreaker was torn to shreds, and blood was everywhere. There was no pain, but it looked bad. All I felt was the warm slick ooze, as it sluiced down my arm and coated the twitching fingers of my right hand. I hadn’t even felt the jagged glass cut into my flesh when my arm went through the window.

“How’d that happen?” I tried to laugh my injury off as we both stared in shock at the blood for several seconds — not moving.

I knew how it’d happened. My arm had gone through a plate glass window, but how could I be cut? I did not feel anything. I was sure if I was cut, I’d have felt the pain. I continued to stare in shock at the blood when my body gave an involuntary jolt.

I made eye contact with Hutch. He must have been in shock too; the expression on his face was blank.

“Ugh!” The pain suddenly came alive, my eyes rolled, and my knees started to crumple. Before I knew what hit me — I felt my body slump toward the ground.

“Easy. Hold — easy.” I heard Hutch’s stunned voice in my ear, and felt the warmth of his body pressed against mine. “Sit, buddy.” A hand gently gripped my good arm. “You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

“Ugh, Hutch.” I trembled as he slowly guided me to sit on the ground, my only goal now — to stay conscious.

“Damn.” Hutch rushed to slip out of his flannel shirt and wrap it around my arm applying pressure, but blood quickly stained the material.

“Ahhh!” I jerked my arm back.

“Sorry. Sorry, buddy.” Hutch had a grim look on his face.” Try to stay still. There are bits of glass stuck in there, but first I gotta stop the bleeding and then get you some help,” Hutch said in a quivering tone.

“Bits, Hutch? Feels more like-like chunks.” I forced myself to rally; glancing around feeling uneasy and wondering if the burglars really were gone. I recalled the clatter of metal and looked to the ground at the dark shadow that lay there. It sure as hell was no little black bible. “Hutch, the gun.”

I weakly tried to get up but Hutch placed a hand on my shoulder and pushed me down emphasizing his request to stay still.

“What are you talking about, Starsk?”

“Creep dropped his gun.” I gestured toward the bushes.

Hutch averted his eyes to the area I had pointed out. For a second he didn’t budge as if he were pondering his options. “Do you think you can stay with me, Starsk?” Hutch moved my good hand and pressed it over the wound.

“You’re the one driving. Where am I going to go, dummy?” I shivered.

“I’ll be right back.” Hutch didn’t laugh at my joke as his hand brushed my shoulder, it was barely a touch, but the contact eased some of my shivering, and nodded.

I watched as Hutch jogged over to the object in question, produced a handkerchief, bent down and retrieved the weapon. He was back in a flash, collecting me in an embrace.

“Wh-where we going?” I slurred, as I lolled against him.

“We’re going to the hospital. It’ll be faster if I drive you.” Hutch grunted with the effort to get me to my feet.

I took a deep breath as I stood, the shock of the blood loss leaving me quaking with weakness. I kept my injured arm tight against my chest. My good hand was limp at my side, and my whole body trembled like I was having a seizure.

I closed my eyes feeling confused and disoriented. Not sure for a moment what was happening. All I heard was Hutch’s voice close to my ear.

“Starsk? Hey, buddy, don’t pass out on me.”

“I’m not,” I mumbled, as my head bobbed up and down.

I felt myself sink into soft leather and opened my eyes. I was in the passenger seat and Hutch was crouched down in the open doorway next to me, his hand on my knee. My partner’s eyes held such worry or was he just measuring me for a coffin? Was my wound that bad?

“Just- just hang in th-there, okay?” Hutch stuttered. When I wasn’t looking he had grabbed the ratty wool blanket we always kept laying on the back seat. “You’re one tough Ombre, Starsk,” he said wrapping the itchy blanket around my shivering body.

“Yeah, that’s me. One tough, burrito,” I snickered lightly, but then felt sick as I watched a stream of blood drip scarlet stains onto my thigh. “Ughnnn! I groaned, slamming my eyes shut, feeling hazy, and swallowing the bile in my throat.

Hutch quickly locked a hand around my wrist and drug my limp hand up to press against the wound. “You have to hold pressure on this, buddy. I can’t do that and drive.”

“Hutch.” I felt myself fading, my body swaying like I was boogieing on the dance floor — but I knew I wasn’t.

“Starsky, I want you to look me in the eye!” Hutch’s voice was loud but reasonably calm. I had to do as he said. “You need to stay awake for me.” He raised his brow. “You can do that, right?”

“‘K.” I nodded, breathed out hard, and sank slightly further into the seat.

I watched as Hutch seemed to move inhumanly fast slamming the door shut, rounding the front of the car, getting in behind the wheel, and squealing out onto the road.

“Ohhhhh, Hutch.” I cringed as I twisted my position finding myself half -sitting, half -leaning on the seat.

“Get out of the way!” Hutch’s angry voice startled me out of my daze.

Through my milky haze, I saw what had him so upset. An early morning garbage truck had blocked the roadway. Hutch flashed his badge out the window, beeped his horn, and cursed so loud his car seemed to shutter in fear of his rage.

“Police emergency, move!”

I clutched tighter to my wound not sure if the bleeding was slowing or not, as the truck finally moved and we were once again speeding toward the hospital. Everything looked blurry gray, fragments of the past few hours floated through my mind in pools of blood red and spotlight white, and scattering like lost puzzle pieces.

I thought of the day Hutch had asked me my name back at the academy. Every since — I’ve leaned on him and he has leaned on me. The right of friends, dealing with the roughest things in this world, like that damn frog who wouldn’t talk.

Starsk?” Hutch looked over at me, and through my fog I could tell he was trying to keep the concern from his eyes

“I’m here.” I nodded, feeling faraway, I tried to ease his worry and offer a smile.

“You got your chance to play hero tonight, thanks buddy.”

“Don’t call me that,” I grumbled. “Just your partner backing you up. Okay?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, buddy.”

I watched Hutch’s hand, his fingers creeping spider-like across the seat until they took hold of my shoulder.

Hutch gently pulled me closer. I came to him limp and confused as I leaned into his side.

“Easy,” he said, using one hand to drive the other tracing small circles on my cold cheek. “You’re doing great, pal. Almost there. Just keep talking to me okay, Starsk?”

My eyes opened and closed, and I fumbled with my tongue, and my brain, until I could form a word.

“Poof.”

“What’s that, buddy?” Hutch laughed nervously.

“Huh?

“What’d you say?”

“Twelve.” I cringed feeling my pumping heart send more blood out my arm. “Fifty three.”

Hutch nodded, I knew I wasn’t making sense, but he seemed to understand, as he invited me to continue. “What else, partner. Tell me more. What’s the largest hotdog ever made? Huh? I know you know.”

I listened to Hutch’s soothing tone. He kept questioning me, I think about hotdog trivia, his voice dragging me in and out of blackness.

When I did not answer his questions, his voice took on a high note, calm and reason now missing from his tenor.

“Starsk, you’re going into shock. Buddy, I need you to keep talking to me.”

“Damn frog.”

It was the last thing I remember saying before I fell into a deep black hole.

 

10-4 O.K.

TAG

The next thing I knew someone was telling me I had to wake up, the voice was unfamiliar and sounded like it echoed through a canyon.

“His heart rate is up and he’s feverish, but don’t worry, he’s doing great.”

“Unghhh?”

Who was with me? And where was I?

I slowly worked my head from side to side trying to track the voice, but I’d be damned if I could shake the heavy feeling I was experiencing.

“Open your eyes!” The voice was louder this time.

I moved my eyes but nothing happened. No light only dark.

“Try again.”

I did.

“You got it.”

What? What had I gotten? I tired to ask but my lips wouldn’t part, and it was dark again. Who’s the joker with the Krazy Glue?

“David.”

I frantically blinked my eyes until light flooded in. Everything was real bright and I felt like I was looking in a mirror under water as things were wavering. It all seemed so backwards or was it upside down? I didn’t know where I was and that scared me.

“Hu –” I swallowed, my throat was so dry, and scratchy, and I started to panic.

“It’s about time,” a woman softly laughed.

This wasn’t funny! I was in a lot of pain.

“You’re just waking up from the anesthesia,” she informed.

I watched a lady in white move into my field of vision and I followed her with my eyes only.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“I hurt.”

Being snapped back into reality was no fun.

“Where?”

“All over.”

“Good.”

“G-good?”

“Means you still have blood in your veins.”

“Huh?”

“You’re alive.”

“Ter…rific.”

I felt heavy, felt sick, and my arm burned like it was on fire. I tried to tell her, but still couldn’t get past the sandpaper in my throat. I glanced down at my arm; it was propped upon a plump pillow and was heavily bandaged from my elbow down to my wrist. My hand looked swollen, fingers discolored, and bruised. I tried to wiggle them; it was hard and hurt a lot.

“Rrrrrr,” I groaned, as the movement sent an electric shockwave up my arm. That really worried me and I looked to the lady in white for answers.

“Don’t panic, Sweetie. You have some nerve damage from that nasty gash in your arm, lost a lot of blood because you sliced into an artery. Twenty-one stitches, but you’re going to be okay now. The doctors fixed the trouble and with some therapy you’ll be back to work in no time.” She stopped her fussing about to swipe a runaway curl out of my eye. “Do you need anything?”

“Hu –” I frowned, my brain had frozen into a giant ice cube, my nose was stuffed, and my stomach was knotted. I needed something but what did I need? I couldn’t remember.

My arm suddenly began to involuntarily spasm.

“You’re okay. The antistatic is wearing off, doll. Just lie still and rest.”

The lady in white looked like an angle, and for a moment I thought I was dead.

“Hutch!” The word finally spilled loudly out of my mouth, causing the woman to cringe.

“Mmmm,” I groaned as I struggled to push myself up.

“David, calm down he’s right here,” she said, easily pushing me back against something soft

“I’m sorry,” I heard a familiar voice say.

“Hush,” I breathed out a sigh. I knew that voice and the sound settled my stomach like no antacid could.

“It happens to me all the time. It’s okay,” the lady in white offered, then disappeared like magic.

My eyes searched the room, mentally trying to center all my attention on finding the face that matched the voice. The next thing I saw was golden hair, bright summer blue eyes, and a mouth smiling ear to ear. I took that as a good sign, as my brain began to thaw and the pieces of my memory came back.

“Hutch?”

“Right here, buddy.” Hutch clasped my good hand, for proof.

“Beautiful.” I smiled, as my eyes fell shut.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Huh?” My eyes drifted open, and peered into summer blue surrounded by streaks of bloodshot red. “Look aw-awful, Blondie.”

“What happened to me being beautiful?” Hutch chuckled.

“Drugs are wearing off,” I murmured as my arm twitched again and I winced from the pain. “Mmmmmmmm.”

“How you feel?” Hutch asked.

“Feel like I want to go back to sleep,” I mumbled around my thick tongue.

“Yeah, you’ve had a rough night, Starsk.”

“Man, tell me about it,” I breathed out, fighting to keep my eyes open.

“Bad day in the alleys and gutters,” Hutch replied sadly.

“Hey, I bowl terrific. You’re the one always throwing gutter balls down the alley.”

“Starsky,” Hutch laughed.

“Wha’?” I asked dumbfounded.

“Go back too sleep, pal.”

“Hushh,” I breathed out as I fought to keep my eyes open.

“What is it, Starsk?” Hutch leaned in closer keeping a steady vigil over me.

“I gotta go–gotta go–gotta go back to–back to sleep,” I garbled

“That’s a good idea, buddy. I’ll be right here for you.” I heard Hutch say, as I fell asleep beneath his protective stare.

The End