Heads You Win, Tails I Lose

A car chase literally finds Hutch in deep water.

Even though summer was close at hand, and the sun shone bright, Hutch found this morning to be cold, making a hard go of starting up his car. It was a good thing he and Starsky decided to drive to work separately today, he wasn’t in the mood for his partner’s teasing. Hutch cringed hearing the clackety-clack of his Ford as he drove toward the station. What was wrong with it now? Just last week he’d had the breaks fixed. And the week before that he’d replaced the carburetor, and had new spark plugs put in. Starsky would be sure to dog him all day when he heard the new sound. Hutch yawned, and sank deeper against his seat thinking not having a fancy parade float for a car wasn’t one of the world’s seven deadly sins. There were sweeter aspects in life than driving around in a hunk of flashy metal. Obviously having a slick car didn’t guarantee you a date every Saturday night, either.

Thinking back to the weekend, Hutch shook his head to his partner’s insatiable love of the tomato. Instead of going out on a date on one of their few Saturdays off; Hutch had ended up sitting in a lawn chair cozying up to a cold beer in his hand. He watched disinterestedly as Starsky waxed his car until his arm nearly fell off. It was about as exciting as when Hutch was younger, spending Sundays watching his grandmother pick lint off her throw pillows.

Starsky would go all out to get his car’s glossy coat polished as shiny smooth as a gem. Most people thought it a handsome car. Dressed in chrome and red paint, with its neat black interior leather, its dropped front end, racing tires, and white stripe for effect. Most people, but not Hutch. ‘The way Starsky would go on and on about his car, you’d think he single-handedly invented the damn thing,’ Hutch chomped vigorously on his gum as he spend down Vista Street toward work.

Maybe he was feeling jealous or frustrated not being able to get his own car working properly. Maybe it was the cold day when it should have been warm. Maybe it was the stiff and scruffy way he felt when he got out of bed this morning. Or the razor cuts on his left jawbone from trying to shave too fast. But he was in a rotten mood, and just thinking of Starsky making fun of his car more than marginally fueled his fire.

****************************************************************************************

Hutch’s glum mood didn’t fade much when he spied the Torino only a few car spaces ahead of him. It wasn’t odd. They’d often end up following each other into the station. Now right behind his partner, Hutch maneuvered his two tone brown painted Ford up along side the Torino.

Maybe his car was no show stopper, but it had just as much power under its hood as his partner’s street machine. He chalked his bad mood up to bad karma, and painted on a smile. Despite his earnest effort to be in a sunken and dark mood; seeing his friend did douse that flame some. Hutch had no explanation for it, Starsky always boggled his mind, but Hutch was happier for it.

“Hey! Hey!” Hutch beeped his horn, trying to get his oblivious partner’s attention.

Starsky looked up from the paper he’d been reading while waiting for the light to change. He smiled immediately, seeing the happy gum chewing face of his partner. Hutch held up two fingers. Starsky nodded. He moved a hand to switch his radio to tack-two; so they could talk off the record.

“Looks like we’re both going to be on time for work today,” Hutch said, cracking his gum as he talked into the mike.

“I don’t know how you get anywhere on time in that heap,” Starsky said, letting his sunglasses slip slightly down his nose as he peered out the window at the dented Ford. “Whoever said, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, just doesn’t get it.”

Hutch blew a large bubble and popped it loudly. “Yeah, well whoever said, beauty is only skin deep, never saw your car.” Hutch popped another bubble, letting his eyes roam up and down the white stripe, sizing up the competition.

Neither man had noticed that the stop light they were sitting at had changed to green then red again. It was lucky for them that there wasn’t much traffic out on the road this early in the morning. Starsky gunned his engine, inviting his partner to do the same.

Hutch rolled his eyes, playing along with the completive ribbing. He smiled, letting his bad mood disappear as he revved his engine in return. Tired of chewing his gum that has lost all its flavor, Hutch spit it into his hand and slipped it out his cracked driver side window. “If it’s a race you want, buddy–” Hutch raised his brows.

Starsky waved him off. Neither man had any intentions of hot-rodding it. ” I think you need a car for that, Hutch.” He laughed heartily into the mike.

“What you got under that hood of yours,” Hutch teased. “Do it yourself mouse power?” He scoffed, picturing two tiny white mice spinning in a wheel under his partner’s glossy red hood.

Starsky tossed his paper to the seat, looking up to the light, that had just turned green again. “Hutch.” He eased back out into traffic. “Normally I’d dust you, but if Dobey found out–” Starsky paused shuddering at the thought. “He’d send us to the far side of the moon.”

Hutch’s smile dropped away and he gave a curt nod to himself. Both men knew there was a certain mystique about the self assured captain. He always seemed to know their every move, even before they made it. Yet they always found some way to get back at Dobey. Whether it was with their sly comic routines, running gags, or just plain sending their Captain into a dizzying whirl spin by dazzling him with the way they could easily finish off each other’s sentences.

Hutch cringed, thinking of his Captain’s full blown tonsil raging screams if he knew they’d even joked about drag racing on public streets on their way to work. “Tell you what, Starsk. We’ll find a quiet place and we’ll just see who’s car would win?” Hutch bluffed.

“Hate to take your money, partner, but sure,” Starsky agreed.

“No money. Toss of a coin. Heads I win. Tails you lose.”

“You expect me to fall for that one, Blondie?”

“My money is on, Dobey.” Mildred broke in. “He’d beat you both if he knew you’d been planning a race.”

Mildred often lent her left ear to listen in on tack two; knowing the two detectives sometimes chatted off air on their way into work. She’d found out a lot of interesting things. Especially about Starsky. Who would always deny any accusations she’d toss his way during the brazen moments of ribbing between them.

“Race, sweetheart? What race?” Starsky smirked into the mike, switching back to the open frequency.

“Mildred, honey, you’ve been breathing in too much smog,” Hutch said with a smile, also switching his radio back over, and easing his car ahead of his partner’s. For now his dark mood forgotten, as both men continued on to work

*******************************************

All of a sudden, Hutch had to slam on his breaks to keep from ramming into a white two door Plymouth that had just barreled out into the intersection.

Behind him, Hutch heard the squealing of the Torino’s tires as it too stopped short, almost jamming into his bumper. The erratic moving Plymouth never slowed. Through his rearview mirror, Hutch made eye contact with Starsky, at the same time reaching for the handset.

“Hey, Starsky, that car was on yesterday’s hot sheet as stolen,” Hutch said, his mind always working overtime.

“Right, it was used in that kidnapping and rape assault,” Starsky added.

“All units, all units,” Mildred broke in again, this time officially. “Two door white Plymouth heading–”

“East on McCracken,” Hutch took over, stepping on the gas, and quickly rattling off the suspect vehicles license plate.

“Suspect considered dangerous, approach with caution,” Mildred advised.

“Look’s like we’re going to get our race, buddy,” Starsky said, slapping on the mars light; speeding off after Hutch, and the fleeing Plymouth.

The pace quickly kicked up, as they chased the suspect down a normally quiet residential side street. “Hutch,” Starsky called using his police unit again. “You go left on Market. I’ll take ninth and we’ll box him in.”

It was almost artful the way the two of them worked together. “Copy that, Starsky.”

Hutch drove at a blinding pace, twisting and snaking down the road. He was having a pretty good run of it; almost catching up to the suspect when a small brindle colored dog darted out in front of him. Hutch almost ran the poor creature over, as it was nearly under his left front tire. Quick to react, he jerked his wheel just in time to miss the dumb mutt, but the fast tracked motion made him thump his head against the side window. For a moment everything blurred together, and he didn’t see what was happening next, until it was too late. Out of options, the crash was inevitable.

Hutch’s neck hairs raised when his realized his car’s wheels had left the pavement; thumping up over a curb and smashing through a maze of sidewalk construction. He had lost all control, his car now free of the road, and in the air. Right off, Hutch saw where he would come to a dead stop. Before he could even try to push open the door to jump to safety, the nose of his Ford dipped down, heading straight for the bottom of a backyard swimming pool.

His right shoulder hit the dash as he was thrown forward, and he felt something jar loose, but couldn’t scream out in pain. Water quickly flooded the car, and fear charged through him. Hutch sat upright and tried to open the driver side door, but it was jammed. Before he could move to the opposite door, the Ford rolled to its side, crushing the passenger access, against the side of the pool. He was waist deep already. Water seeped in through every crack, causing his shirt to stretch wet across his back. He knew he was eating from a plate full of trouble when the windows also failed to work against the pressure of the water, and his injured shoulder hindered his ability to work with full strength. The truth was unhusked quickly. Hutch wasn’t getting out, and in a matter of minutes the inside of his car would be completely full of water.

“Hutch, I lost ’em. What’s your twenty?” Starsky’s voice boomed over the radio.

Hutch’s hands began to shake as he reached for the mike, surprised it still worked, and kicking himself for not thinking of it faster. “About twelve feet under,” he guessed.

“What are you talking about?”

“Car took a nose dive into somebody’s backyard pool,” Hutch said, with alarm in his voice.

“Well, get the hell out of there!”

“Can’t. Doors and windows are jammed, Starsk.”

“Okay, pal, okay. Where?”

“On the right. Messed up somebody’s new sidewalk.” Water lapped at Hutch’s chest. “Ocean View.”

“It would be,” Starsky drawled. “Hold on, buddy.” Taking his thumb off the mike, and a breath later, Starsky came to his senses. He needed to call dispatch and–

“Ten four Zebra Three.” The radio crackled startling him, just as he was about to thumb the key. ” Starsky, I heard,” Mildred said, keeping a calm professional voice. “I’m dispatching a medical team and black and whites. ETA five minutes.”

“Hurry, partner,” Hutch interrupted. “In four, the only thing I’m gonna be holding is my breath. ” Hutch tossed the mike and began once more trying to struggle with the door and window.

Starsky nodded letting the mike fall to hang from its wire, concentrating once again on getting to Hutch.

******************************************************************************************

Hutch’s fingers scrambled at the slightly cracked window of the driver side, trying again to force the glass down, and break free, but it wouldn’t budge. He felt his ears plug as water rose to fill them. “Starsky, hurry.” He tilted his head higher, struggling against the water that kept rushing in.

His thoughts flooded him as fast as the water. This morning’s cup of coffee. Yesterday’s frothy cold beer with his best friend. Tomorrow’s fishing trip. If there was a tomorrow. Hutch squeezed his eyes shut a moment, concentrating on the lulling rhythm of his heartbeat. He forced himself to remain calm, and wait for Starsky; certain his partner would follow his trail of destruction. His head began to pound and he swiped two fingers along his temple, bringing them down to see them tipped in red. He began to lull off into the blurry darkness that was trying to take him under, but he quickly righted himself. Hutch strained to keep his head up, taking in gulp after gulp of what little air he had left. He sputtered, feeling as though someone had a stranglehold on him when he sipped at the water that was now at chin level. The pool felt like warm bath water, but Hutch shuddered from cold.

“You’re in deep, Hutchinson.” He dryly laughed, then pressed his lips tight to keep the rising water out of his mouth. ‘Keep calm. Head up. Breathe slow.’ More thoughts orbited Hutch’s mind like a celestial procession.

He blinked rapidly. The water around him looked like a cloudless summer sky. Something floated to the surface near his head, and he reached out for it. He raised it up out of the water and brought it close to his face. Starsky’s styrofoam coffee cup from the other day. It was a very simple thing. Something normally considered trash, but not this day. Hutch clung to it, crushing it in his grip, trying to calm the pounding of his pulse that had been breaking through the underwater silence of car. A relaxed state came to him as he concentrated on the cup. It was weird, but he somehow gathered comfort from the object, and it kept him from being utterly terrified. He only had mere inches left before the pool water filled the small air pocket. Hutch took in another slow breath, but he choked before it even got midway to his lungs. He laughed to himself, thinking at least he wouldn’t be stalked by great whites. The only sharks in this water would be the rubber type. Hutch’s light chuckle ended when he drew in a deep mouthful of air, knowing it was going to be his last, as he went under. He tried not to panic. He focused on holding his breath for as long as he could, and keeping his eyes impossibly wide, hoping to see his partner diving in to help. He clung to the cup, seeing no one, only a burst of cloudy bubbles. If he didn’t know better, he’d say someone had stirred up the sandy bottom of the ocean, only he knew there was only concrete below him. Hutch felt a stab of dread. His lungs were greedy for oxygen, and his eyes began to roll up into his lids.

A loud thump to the window jerked them back down. Help had arrived in the form of his partner. Starsky’s wild hair was tamed by the water; tufted straight and floating around his head. Hutch lashed a hand toward the door handle, letting the cup he held float away. They combined their strength trying to pry the metal open.

Starsky could tell by the way Hutch was thrashing about inside the car that he was nearly out of air. Using hand signals, he beckoned Hutch close to the three inch crack in the window. He placed his mouth as close as he could through the opening. Desperate for breath, Hutch’s eyes bulged as he realized what his partner was trying to offer. He came near Starsky. Lips pressed against lips, and Hutch took a breath straight from his partner’s mouth. Now needing air himself, Starsky regretfully kicked upward, breaking the surface. He took in a huge gulp, then ducked back down under the water. Kicking hard, he traveled downward till he was back at the car. He gestured Hutch near the window again, giving him another quick breath, this time not as much. Then both men, thinking the same thought, went to work. It would take both of them working in sync to open the car door, the water pressure having sealed it tightly shut. Starsky pulled on the handle, using his feet to brace against the metal, while Hutch tired to push from the inside. Once they stole apprehensive glances to one another. Hutch was running out of time, out of air, but neither man wanted to stop tugging. Hutch began to feel as though he wouldn’t make it. Blackness started to spread over him, and his stomach turned over, but a last desperate push and pull by both men caused the door to give.

Suddenly Hutch felt himself swept out of the car, and tugged upward. He tried to help by kicking his feet, but felt paralyzed with weakness. He looked to the surface above him. The sunlight dancing on the water was beautiful, and somehow he didn’t feel afraid when he felt as if something was tightening around his neck; like a rope. But it was the silence of the underwater world that brought him to panic. He moved his hands to his throat feeling like he was were being strangled. His finger nails scratched and clawed at something that wasn’t there. Hutch heard himself moan out loud, gulping several times involuntarily. Water poured down his trachea and the light of the sunshine he’d been looking at suddenly died. His hands floated away from his neck, and the little bit of air he had retained from his partner’s lungs left him as he went limp.

Starsky dug his hands through the water, fighting for speed, feeling Hutch surrender, his life slipping out of him. Starsky exploded to break the surface, taking in water himself and sputtering, as he kept Hutch balanced against him, desperately trying to keep the lax head above the surface. Starsky paddled toward the edge of the pool. He yanked and struggled to pull his partner from the water. He gave an apprehensive glance to the blonde hair that was plastered over his partner’s face, but it didn’t hide the blue around the relaxed, slightly open lips. Starsky pushed harder, trying to get Hutch out of the pool. He knew his partner wasn’t breathing, his lungs were filled with chlorine water. Finally the owner of the home came running out.

“Who the hell are you? What the hell’s going on here?” The older gray haired man, wearing a blue tee shirt and checkerboard pants, jabbed his finger angrily in the air.

“Police.” Starsky paused. Unable to pull his badge, for effect, he jerked his head toward the Torino parked out on the street, its mars light still twirling red. Starsky began struggling again to get Hutch’s dead weight out of the water.

“Let me help.” The crusty old man nodded his quick understanding, grabbing Hutch by the shirt collar and pulling until the officer was lying flat on his belly on the rough concrete, arms extended outward. It took a minute, but with difficulty Starsky hauled his own body out and knelt down next to Hutch. “His pulse seems strong, but he’s stopped breathing,” The elderly man said, his fingers fumbling along the side of Hutch’s neck, not knowing what else to do next.

“Give him to me.” The man moved aside as Starsky frantically rolled Hutch over onto his back. He pushed the hair off Hutch’s face. Focusing on clearing his airway, he tilted his head far back. Pinching Hutch’s nostrils shut, Starsky breathed air into his mouth. He watched Hutch’s chest rise only slightly then fall with a rasping sound, only to stay fallen. “Breathe,” Starsky said, lowering his mouth to Hutch’s again and blowing. He watched as Hutch’s chest barely rose.

“Is there anything I can do?” The worried homeowner asked, trying to maintain a certain air of calm in his voice.

“No, nothing. Ambulance is on its way. This is not going to happen. Damn it, his lungs have too much water in them,” Starsky swore to himself. He turned Hutch’s head to the left and began to massage his chest, pumping inward and upward. Water trickled out Hutch’s mouth onto the cement. With his right hand, Starsky reached up to Hutch’s throat, feeling for a pulse, and at the same time noted Hutch’s skin cooling beneath his fingers. A pulse was there but weakening. ‘Brain damage’ were the only words that kept appearing in his mind.

Rotating his partner’s head skyward again, Starsky exhaled into Hutch’s mouth. “Breathe,” he ordered in a panicked voice, just before blowing another puff of air into the unconscious man beneath him. Turning his head, and pressing his ear close to Hutch’s mouth, Starsky watched for the chest to rise, listened for the exhale of air. “Breathe!” Starsky shrieked, sucking in air and then forcing it immediately into his partner. “Hutch!” Starsky hovered close, still watching for any sign of life. Nothing. Another breath was given. “Come on, Hutch! I am telling you to Breathe! Breathe, partner!” Starsky yelled, expecting nothing less than compliance on Hutch’s part.

“He’s still not breathing?” The man questioned shaking his head with worry. This guy was going to die in his backyard before the rescue crew showed up. “He’s gone. He’s gone,” the man sorrowfully said, losing his earlier calm. He fidgeted from one foot to the other, while nervously digging his hands into his front pants pockets.

Starsky had just given Hutch another surge of air. He lifted his head to look fiercely at the old man. “You shut up! Just shut up!” He looked back to Hutch lying so still, cold, and wet, but there was no change. Hutch’s face was the shade of white flour, his lips purplish blue. Starsky dipped his mouth back down, gathering air he breathed again, filling his partner’s lungs.

What was only no more than sixty seconds felt more like an hour to Starsky, as he battled with his friends lifeless body. Each breath he gave Hutch filling more and more with his own hysteria. “Damn it, breathe!”

Another breath.

Starsky paused to take Hutch’s wrist and pressed his fingers against his pulse. “I still got you, partner.”

Another breath.

The wind rose. Clothes and hair wet, Starsky shivered.

Another breath.

He wished the ambulance, and backup that had already been dispatched would get here.

Another breath.

He wasn’t about to be a pallbearer carrying his best friend’s coffin.

Another breath.

Sirens and flashing lights suddenly appeared.

Another breath.

He heard the footsteps of the homeowner running toward the ambulance. “How bad is it? Someone had asked.

“It doesn’t look good,” another voice reached his ears. “He’s unconscious. Not breathing.”

Another breath.

Hutch’s body began to tremble. He was chilled through. He knew there was something very important he should be doing, but a fog loomed heavy over him and he couldn’t recall what ‘it’ was.

“That’s it. Now! Breathe now! A voice yelled at him. This was a fight to the finish and Starsky was determined to win.

Hutch lay still. Only his fingers flinched, then dug reflexively at the cement. He felt a bursting pain in his head. He struggled to respond but couldn’t. He could feel his eyes moving under his closed lids. The bright light from the sun pierced through the thin skin, but still there was darkness. A bone-crushing feeling in his chest kept him from responding to whomever it was that kept screaming at him. His stomach muscles bunched and he wanted to vomit, but couldn’t. All he could feel was cold and wet. His lips parted and his muscles twitched. Suddenly his cheeks hurt.

‘Slap!’

“Come on spit it out! Hutch!” The worried voice demanded even louder. ‘Come on buddy, spit–it—out!”

‘Slap!’

Hutch felt a familiar hand tapping hard against his cheek. He arched his back, tried to object, but choked on the words. Suddenly he recalled what he needed to be doing, what the voice and hand were demanding of him. The impulse to breathe suddenly became strong, and water erupted from his mouth. Hutch felt himself turned onto his side. “That’s right. That’s it, buddy. Spit it all out. All of it!”

Hutch’s heart pulsed as he took in air. He lurched in pain to that most basic and natural act that normally he took for granted. He hacked and heaved until the last of the chlorine flavored water poured out his mouth.

“Stars–”

“I’m right beside you.” Starsky laid a hand to Hutch’s shoulder, and pulled his head into his lap.

He tried to warm Hutch with his hands; rubbing up and down the length of his arms. Hutch was breathing in and out with force now. “Y-you–you idiot. You–you hit–hit–m-me.” Hutch made another choking sound, understanding flooding him as fast as the air he took in.

“You were drowning. Got you to breathe, didn’t it?” Starsky laughed earnestly.

“That easy, huh?” Hutch could barely whisper.

Starsky bowed his head closer. “No, not so easy, partner. You put up a good fight. Now just rest easy.”

Paramedics now knelt at Hutch’s side fussing over every inch of him. Hutch closed his eyes, shivering and whimpered.

“His respiration’s are still not back to normal,” a paramedic said, pushing an oxygen mask over Hutch’s nose, while someone else draped a warm blanket over him. “All right, let’s get him to the hospital.”

“No ambulance,” Hutch murmured.

“Make it easy on you, buddy. We’ll flip a coin. Heads, you go with me to the hospital. Tails, I go with you to the hospital,” Starsky said unable to resist the small chuckle that escaped.

“You expect me to fall for that one?” Hutch slurred, as he passed out.

Starsky looked closely at Hutch a moment, then nodded to the paramedics. “It’s heads, I win.”

***********

TAG

“Hey.” Quiet, and gentle.

Hutch heard the faint word, then felt gentle brushing along his temple. It slowly caused him blink open his eyes. “You’re awake!” A voice proudly spoke in a hush.

“Where-where am I?” Hutch asked the unknown form near him.

“Same as always. The hospital.”

Hutch stared at the hovering ghostly figure for while until the blur before him cleared and he saw the familiar smiling face.

“St–Starsky?” The word murmured questioningly.

“No, buddy. It’s your grandmother.” Starsky smiled brightly, laying a hand to his partner’s shoulder.

“You need a shave, grandma,” Hutch said, feeling a chill he shivered hard. “What happen?”

“You almost drowned.” Starsky’s eyes shone bright with seriousness.

“This morning?” Hutch lifted his head slightly, frowning when everything spun, and pain rushed between his ears. He quickly decided to put it back down to the pillow.

“Two days ago, buddy,” Starsky sighed. “You look much better when your eyes are open, you know that, Blondie?” Relief evident in his voice as he chuckled lightly. “They stitched up your head.” Starsky informed his partner seeing Hutch’s puckered brow.

“Yeah? Well you look better when I’m dreaming–part–partn—“Hutch struggled not to cough, but a tight squeezing in his chest took over his words. He closed his eyes because the barrage of hacking knocked the breath from him.

Starsky tightened his grip on Hutch’s shoulder. “Here now, easy, buddy.” Hutch’s pain was evident, it made Starsky’s brows knit, and he winced hard. “Anything I can do, partner?”

A moment passed before the coughing stopped. Hutch opened his eyes and turned his head back toward Starsky. He groaned, trying to find a position that would relieve the aches he felt all over, but his discomfort wouldn’t ease. “You– you could help me sit up.”

Starsky slowly and smoothly helped Hutch upward against the soft stuffing of pillows behind him. “Better?”

“No worse than the average drowning victim,” Hutch glumly said, not happy at all to be in the hospital. His body hurt, and he didn’t mean to sound so unappreciative. Seeing the unhappy look on Starsky’s face he tried to lighten up. “I’m okay, Starsk. Just don’t–don’t hit me again, huh?” Hutch smiled.

“Real sorry, ’bout that, buddy.” Starsky softly stroked a bruise on the side of Hutch’s cheek.

“Just glad you don’t run from a fight, Starsk,” Hutch said in a soft coarse whisper, seeing his partner’s guilt.

“I could say the same about you, Hutchinson.”

“Starsk, I win most my fights.”

“Sure didn’t win the last one.” Starsky laughed gesturing to the hospital room, proof enough that Hutch hadn’t won this one.

“Wasn’t a fair fight.” Hutch drew in a slow breath, sleepily shifting his weight and feeling his eyes drift shut. “Next time, it’s my turn to call heads,” he said, sleep finally claiming him.

Starsky smiled. “I’ll take that bet, partner.”