Table of Contents
Hutch is kidnapped and one of the partners’ worst nightmares is happening again.
Merry first wrote and published this story for a small fan convention, and then sent it to fans by email. In 1998 the novel was published for wide-spread release by Intertwined, in That’s What Friends Are For volume 7, as a stand alone novel. The editor was Nanci Folsom Casad. Merry added a major scene for this version, and at the editor’s request removed several words although she didn’t want to remove them….
Our gratitude to Merry is boundless for her willingness to work with us to bring this classic, much-loved novel to the archive for all to enjoy.
The growling of his own stomach distracted Starsky from his studies. Glancing at the clock beside his bed, he saw that it was a minute or two before seven. He shoved himself off the mattress and walked nervously into the living room, then over to the stained glass window in his door. His heart began to pound rapidly as he looked out onto the dark street. It had been a year and a half now, but the feelings returned as if it were yesterday. How many times since that horrible day had he stared out this same window in vain? How many times since the day his partner had gone out to pick up a pizza and never come back?
Part One
After pulling up in front of Starsky’s apartment, Hutch took a moment to stretch his aching back muscles. The blond detective was tired, but happy, after wrapping up the Torrez case. Three weeks of intense investigation had finally culminated in the arrest of the killer five hours before. The successful conclusion of the high-profile crime had Dobey in a magnanimous mood, so now Hutch and his partner had a three day weekend off to look forward to.
“Maybe I could convince you to go up to Pine Lake for a little fishing, huh?” he said out loud. As expected, there was no response to his half-serious suggestion. He turned and smiled affectionately at the slumbering figure slumped against the passenger-side door. During the eight months since Starsky had returned to active duty after nearly being killed by Gunther’s hitmen, Hutch’s partner had displayed a remarkable ability to stay as energetic as necessary to handle whatever case the team was working on. Only after each case was completed, did the effects of his reduced lung capacity and weakened muscles catch up with him, leaving him totally drained, nearly comatose in fact, for as long as it took to regroup. This had been the longest and toughest case yet in all that time, and Hutch suspected his friend would need a large portion of the long weekend to rest and sleep.
“Starsk?” Hutch reached over and gently shook his partner’s shoulder. “Starsky, wake up.”
Starsky stirred, cracking open one eye, “huh?”
“We’re home, pal. Got a whole three days ahead of us. But, first you gotta get out of the car.”
“Yeah, why?” Starsky yawned, then pushed himself upright. “‘M hungry,” he stated.
“Of course, you are. C’mon in and we’ll order pizza. I’m too beat to cook.” Hutch got out of the car, went around to Starsky’s side and offered a hand, which his partner took and used to haul himself out of the seat.
Once they were inside, Hutch got a couple of beers out of the refrigerator while Starsky phoned the pizza place to order dinner. After taking a few sips from his can, Starsky stretched out on the couch and almost immediately dozed off, leaving Hutch the unusual freedom to pick the TV fare. Happily tuning in the educational channel, the blond found a documentary about the Aborigines of New Zealand which kept his attention until he was interrupted by a mumbled complaint from the couch. “Hey, Hutch, turn to somethin’ decent before you go get the pizza, will ya?”
Hutch sighed. Unfortunately, it really was time to get the pizza. “What am I…your slave?” he retorted in mock anger.
“Uh huh.” The entire exchange had taken place while Starsky’s eyes were still closed.
Shaking his head, but smiling, Hutch turned the channel to an inane situation comedy, then left to get dinner without further comment.
***
Leaving Gino’s with the pizza box, Hutch had no reason to be suspicious of the two men conversing just behind his car, or of the third man in the passenger seat of the car to the left of his. It was a complete surprise when the door opened in front of him and the man stepped out, aiming an automatic at his abdomen, while the two men who had been behind his car stepped toward him, trapping him in the narrow space between the two vehicles. “Hey! What’s this?”
“Just stand very still, Hutchinson, or you buy it right here.” Although the man with the gun knew his name, it was no one Hutch had seen before. The detective toyed with the idea of lunging forward, but instead froze as ordered. With the two men behind him, there was no real chance of escape.
“Put your hands behind you,” one of the men at his back said, then took the pizza box and cuffed Hutch when he complied. The man in front stepped forward to remove his Magnum, then opened the door of the LTD and instructed Hutch to get in the car and slide over to the passenger side. As Hutch moved, so did the two other assailants, sliding into the back seat behind him. When Hutch neared the window, a hand came around to his right. He shied instinctively to the left, mouth and nose meeting another hand, covered by a handkerchief. Surprised, he’d already inhaled by the time he recognized the scent of the chloroform. “You’re an idiot, Hutchinson,” he chided himself, as he sank into unconsciousness.
***
It was dark in the room when Starsky was prodded awake by his empty stomach. “Hey, Hutch,” he called. “I’m starving. Why didn’t you wake me up?” He pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around groggily. “Hutch?” There was no answer, and there was no tell-tale odor of pizza. “Hutch, where are you?” Starsky rose to his feet and walked into the empty kitchen, fear beginning to coil in his stomach, banishing the hunger. A glance at the clock told him it was past 7:30. Hutch should have been back with the pizza an hour before. Starsky strode quickly to the door, opening the stained glass window to see if his partner might be climbing the stairs that very moment, or perhaps sitting outside for some reason. Nothing.
Moving back to the couch, Starsky sank down and tried to think calmly. There were a dozen reasons, he decided, why Hutch might be late. He listed them in his mind; car trouble, police activity en route, most simply, some problem with the pizza order. Deciding to act on the simplest possibility first, he picked up the phone and dialed Gino’s, only to be told that Hutch had picked up the pizza right on time at 6:15. He tried calling dispatch next…perhaps Hutch had answered a call in the area…but, according to them, there had been nothing noteworthy happening in the vicinity, and there was no word of Hutch calling in. Car trouble, then? Hutch should have phoned him in that case, but maybe hadn’t wanted to wake him…As the minutes passed, Starsky could sense the desperation in his own rationalizations, but rationalizing was better than accepting the feeling of dread in his gut, a feeling that told him something was very, very wrong. It was the same kind of feeling he’d had twice before when Hutch had been “late;” the time he’d been kidnapped by Forest, and the time he’d been trapped under his car in the canyon.
Needing to do something, Starsky left the apartment, got into the Torino, and slowly drove the route to the pizzeria and back again, looking for any signs of Hutch’s latest disaster of a car, broken down somewhere. He was not really surprised to find no sign of the vehicle; the “bad” feeling was just too strong.
Walking back into his apartment, he reviewed their last conversation carefully in his mind. Was it possible, he wondered guiltily, that Hutch had, in fact, been angered by Starsky’s ordering him around? Yeah, maybe that was it. Maybe Hutch was angry and had decided to pay him back by taking the pizza to Venice Place. He hadn’t thought Hutch would be mad, and it seemed awfully cruel, but….Starsky picked up the phone, heart pounding, and dialed Hutch’s number, listening anxiously as it rang and rang. “C’mon, Hutch,” he pleaded into the receiver, “be there being an ass, please.” He hung up after fifteen rings, feeling like he wanted to cry. Instead, he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, then picked up the phone again to call Dobey at home.
“Cap’n? It’s Starsky.”
“Starsky, what’s the matter?” Dobey had known his detective long enough to recognize the tension in his voice immediately.
“Cap’n, Hutch is missing.”
“What are you talking about? You only left work a few hours ago!” The doubting words came out automatically, but Dobey felt a sense of dread even as he said them. Starsky was rarely worried about Hutch without good reason.
“He came with me to my place. We ordered pizza. I stayed at home, but he picked up the pizza at 6:15. He was there…I checked. But he…,” Starsky suddenly found it hard to talk, his voice seeming to stick in his throat. “He never came home,” he finished hoarsely. “I checked with dispatch, drove around looking for a while. Nothing. There’s something wrong, Cap. I just know it.”
Dobey felt goosebumps prickle up his arm. “You’re sure he didn’t just think of something he’d forgotten to do?” It sounded lame, even to his own ears.
“With a hot pizza in the car? Anyhow, he would’ve called me, ya know. He’d know I’d be worried…”
Dobey sighed as Starsky’s voice trailed off. It was true, he knew it. Hutch had been, if anything, overprotective of his partner since he’d almost lost him. He would never deliberately worry him like this. “I’ll call in and put out a Missing Officer on him right away.” It might take some explaining later, starting a search for someone who’d only been gone a few hours, with no sign of foul play, but he’d deal with the consequences of that later. He knew he could never deal with the consequences if something happened to Hutch because he, himself, was too worried about following procedures. “He was in his own car?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Look, uh, I’m gonna drive over to his place just to check, okay? If you hear anything, call me there.”
“All right, but be careful. Anyone after Hutch could be after you as well. In fact, I think I want to assign someone to you, just in case. I’ll have them meet you at Hutch’s. And keep me informed where you are, Dave. I mean it!”
“Yeah, I will.”
“Dave!”
“I will, I promise. Uh, and thanks, Cap’n, for taking this seriously.”
“Well, I just hope we’re both wrong and feel incredibly silly in the morning.”
Starsky made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and Dobey’s heart constricted in sympathy. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” Starsky said in a wistful tone, both of them knowing that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll call you in a little while. Bye”
As soon as Starsky hung up, Dobey dialed dispatch to put out the APB on Hutch, gave orders to be contacted at home if there was any word, regardless of the time or circumstances, then sank heavily into a chair. “God, please let him be okay,” he prayed softly. His two favorite detectives, and friends, had gone through enough the past five years to last more than a lifetime. Somehow, they’d survived, Dobey still wasn’t sure how, but he didn’t really think either of them could handle much more. They’d been noticeably more careful since Gunther, and he’d hoped… “Damn.”
“Honey, what is it?” Edith had peeked into the room. Seeing her husband’s obvious distress, she crossed over to him and put her arms around his shoulders.
“That was Dave. He’s worried about Hutch. Seems he went out to get pizza three hours ago, and still hasn’t come back.”
“Oh, Harold, no!” She was genuinely distressed. She and her husband had really grown to love “those boys.”
“Hopefully, it’s nothing. Some sort of miscommunication.”
“But you don’t really think so, do you?”
“No, no, I don’t.”
Edith leaned her head against her husband’s and hugged him tight.
***
It was past five a.m. when Starsky fell into his bed, fully clothed. He shivered, feeling cold inside and out, but barely had the strength to pull the bedspread on top of him and curl into a ball underneath. After finding Hutch’s apartment empty and apparently undisturbed, he’d spent the rest of the night combing the streets in an ever-widening circle around the pizzeria, followed faithfully by the car assigned to protect him. He’d found no sign of Hutch or his car. A stop to question the pizzeria help had provided no clues either. According to the cashier, Randy, Hutch had picked up the pizza right on time, interacted calmly and pleasantly with everyone, and had then left. No one had seen anything suspicious. There were still no reports of traffic accidents or disturbances of any kind in the neighborhood. A visit to Huggy’s had proved equally fruitless, as had the APB on Hutch. In short, he had nothing to go on, no clues, no leads, nothing.
Too exhausted to drive safely, he’d come home finally, to try to get a few hours sleep before going into the office to pick up the search again. Despite his extreme fatigue, his mind would not permit him to sleep. Oh, Hutch, where are you? Starsky’s stomach hurt, as if someone had punched him in the gut, and he curled tighter in an effort to relieve the pain, to no avail. “It’s not fair,” he cried out to the empty room. “Dammit, it’s not fair!” He and Hutch had talked, after Gunther. They’d been through too much in recent years, come too close to losing each other too many times. They’d made changes, been more careful, worn vests, used backup. It wasn’t fair that this would happen now, with no warning, no reason. They didn’t deserve it!
With a groan, Starsky turned over and uncurled long enough to get a pill out of the drawer of his nightstand. He had to sleep to be able to function. He hadn’t taken a pill to help him do that in months, but he needed one now. He swallowed it quickly, then hunched back under the spread, waiting for the drug to take the pain away, just for a little while.
***
Moving, we’re moving, was Hutch’s first coherent thought as he drifted back to consciousness. He cracked open his eyes just enough to peer at his surroundings. His head was pounding and it hurt too much to move it around a lot, but from where he lay, he could tell he was in the back of a small truck or van, watched by two men who were seated nearby on boxes. As his mind cleared further, he tried to change position, then realized that he was still cuffed, not just his wrists, but his ankles as well.
“Hey, he’s awake.”
“Already?”
“Wha’s goin’ on?” Hutch tried. You never knew, some crooks were dumb enough to answer a question like that.
“We better knock him out again. You remember what Forest said happened the last time.”
Hutch froze, terror clutching at his heart. Forest no! Not again. Not that! One pair of legs moved toward him and he twisted away violently. The response to that was a kick in the gut that doubled him over in spite of himself. He gasped for breath and took in a lungful of chloroform. Blackness claimed him again.
***
Starsky had reviewed the events of the night of his partner’s disappearance a thousand times in the two days since they’d happened, hoping that going over it just once more would reveal the key to his vanishing, but it never had. He remembered Hutch leaving, remembered yelling at him to change the TV channel on the way out. He hadn’t said good-bye, hadn’t even said please as he could recall. Just ordered him to do something like he was his servant, then never saw him again. Would he ever know the truth? “Aw, Hutch,” he murmured in a voice raw with pain, “what the hell happened to you? And why? My God, why?” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud until he heard his own words, and quickly looked up to see everyone else in the squadroom looking at him sympathetically. “Sorry,” he muttered, looking back down at the yellow pad in front of him. On it was a list, scrawled in his own hand; a long list, of enemies, his, Hutch’s, theirs. He and the team of men assigned to the case had been going down the list, name by name, checking their whereabouts. He’d kept the most likely suspects for himself, and shuddered as he read the next name, Ben Forest. The present nightmare was replaced briefly by a past one, as he thought about the horrors of that experience, his frantic search for Hutch, the astonishing, sickening sight of his partner, filthy and suffering in the alley, of the needle marks in his arm, the agony they’d both suffered during the forty-eight hours of Hutch’s cold-turkey withdrawal. According to the computer printout, Forest was still in jail. Starsky licked the sweat off his upper lip, then dialed the number of the prison. Forest was there, the warden, himself, confirmed, though he was due to be released in three months.
Starsky hung up the phone, started to cross the name off, then put a question mark by it instead. Forest had been a wealthy and powerful crime boss. It was possible that even from prison he could have arranged to get revenge on the man who had cost him his lady, and his freedom. Starsky called back and made an appointment to question him the next morning, then moved on to the next name, Alex Drew.
***
This time Hutch’s struggle back to consciousness was prolonged and difficult. Repeated doses of chloroform had left him weak and sick, with a blinding headache. It took several attempts, and several hours, before he managed to stay awake long enough to take stock of his situation. He was no longer in the truck, he realized finally, but in a room. He was no longer cuffed, either, but tied to a chair…No! Please, no! The returning memory jolted him to full consciousness. Forest! He all too clearly remembered what had happened the last time he’d been tied to a chair like this by Forest’s goons. The terror he’d felt in the truck returned and he mindlessly struggled against the ropes, finding them extremely secure, and succeeding only in tipping himself over sideways.
The door opened and his three captors walked in, grinning. “Hey, lookie here,” one of them said, “Sleepin” Beauty is finally awake. Now the fun can begin.”
Hutch tried desperately to quell his rising panic and think straight, as two of the men walked over to him and pulled him back upright. “Wh-what do you want from me?” he asked in as steady a voice as he could muster.
“Nothin’,” the tallest of the three answered. “We don’t want nothin’. Fact is we’re here to give you somethin’. Show him what we’re gonna give him, Don.”
The third man, who’d remained by the door, stepped forward, then lifted his hand to display the syringe he was holding. “We got a lovely present for ya, Blondie. Ain’t it lovely? From what we heard, it’s somethin’ you’ve been wantin’ for a long time.”
The room swam around Hutch for a moment, and the only thing he could see was the needle, sharp, thin, gleaming silver. “No! No! Please, don’t!” He was ashamed of his fear, knew he was acting like a coward, and still couldn’t stop himself from his frenzied pleading. “Not that, please. Just kill me. Just kill me, okay?”
As Don advanced slowly toward him, one of the other two untied his right arm. “NO!” With every ounce of strength he had, he tried to wrench his arm away, but the two thugs grabbed it and held him in an iron grip. Dear God, help me! Starsky, where are you? Help me, please. Hutch’s eyes were riveted on the needle, as the adrenaline coursing through his veins changed everything to slow motion. His thoughts raced as it drew nearer, as one of the other two tied tubing around his arm to raise the vein. He stopped struggling finally, giving in to the inevitability of what was happening, and a strange calm came over him. Then, as the needle moved to within a millimeter of his skin, he felt….anticipation. The guilt that flooded through him was instantly destroyed as the drug entered his vein. And the rush was everything he’d remembered it to be.
***
Damn, it’s hot in here, Starsky thought, swiping at the sweat across his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. He looked up quickly as Forest was ushered into the small meeting room by a guard, who deposited the prisoner in the seat on the other side of the narrow wooden table. Starsky had requested he be allowed to question Forest face to face, rather than through the glass like most visitors. He needed the personal contact to receive the “vibes” he so depended on when interrogating a suspect.
“Well, well, Detective Starsky, what an unexpected pleasure.” Forest’s voice was silky.
Starsky remained silent for a moment, just watching, sensing. “Where’s Hutch?” he asked sharply, looking for some reaction to what he hoped was a surprisingly blunt question. There; a flicker in Forest’s eyes; a slight glimmer of satisfaction. Starsky felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in response. The glimmer was gone in an instant, replaced by a calm, icy gaze.
“Don’t you know?” Forest asked, in apparent curiosity.
“Cut the crap, Forest. I know you read the papers.”
“Oh, that’s right, isn’t it? I did read something about that. You’ve lost him again, haven’t you?”
Starsky had been prepared for the interview, and was determined not to be baited, but the question got to him despite his good intentions. With every hour that had passed he’d felt more guilty. Wherever Hutch was, he had to be counting on Starsky to find him and help him, and, so far, Starsky had failed miserably. Forcefully quashing his own emotions, Starsky refocused on the business at hand.
“Someone snatched him, Forest. You did it once before. I’m thinking maybe you just did it again.”
“Really, Sergeant, I’ve been in prison a long time and I’m getting out in three months. Do you actually think I’m stupid enough to do something to jeopardize my freedom?”
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Forest, but I do think you hate to lose…and that you’ve got a long memory. I think you’d do just about anything to get back at someone who beat you.”
“Detective, please, I’ve been in here for four years. However could I have done something to your partner from here?”
“They’ve got phones here. You been using ’em?”
“Not for anything out of the ordinary.”
“I can check, you know.”
“Feel free. You won’t find anything.”
The vibes he was getting from the man across from him continued to make Starsky’s skin crawl. The scum knew something, Starsky was almost sure of it. “You’ve also had visitors.”
“My lawyers and a few businessmen friends of mine–quite well-known and legitimate, I assure you.”
“I’ll check that, too.”
“I’m sure you will.”
And he’d find nothing, Starsky knew. If Forest was behind Hutch’s disappearance, he was too smart to have left an obvious trail. Hell, you’re a detective, aren’t you? There might not be an obvious trail, but there had to be a hidden one, and it was his job to find it. “What do you plan to do when you get out of here?” he asked suddenly.
“I don’t have to answer that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Actually, I’m going to expand my legitimate business interests.”
“Really.”
“I’ll excuse your sarcasm, Detective,” Forest said sweetly, “since I know you’re overwrought because of Hutchinson’s disappearance. I sincerely hope you find him, by the way. I don’t want any unreasonable suspicions of me or unwarranted investigations to interfere with my promising future.”
Starsky was sickened by the man’s arrogance. He also knew he’d get nothing further from the interview, now that Forest was on his guard. He leaned forward and locked eyes with the older man. “I wanna tell you something, Forest,” he said, with a quiet, deadly intensity. I think you know something about what happened to Hutch. If you do; if you’re responsible for hurting him in any way, I will find out. If it takes a month, or a year, or ten years, I will find out. And then, Mr. Forest, I will personally make sure that you pay, one way or the other. Count on it.”
“You won’t find out, Detective, because there’s nothing to find,” Forest stated coldly, seemingly tired of the verbal sparring. Then, with a little smirk, “I just hope that, whatever happened, he suffered, at least a little.”
Starsky leaped to his feet at the cruel words, grabbed Forest by the collar, and shoved him against the wall, his arm across Forest’s throat. Blind with rage, he pushed against the wall, as the guard grasped at him, trying to pry him off. Somehow, through the red haze clouding his senses, Starsky heard Hutch’s voice in his mind saying, “Easy, Starsk,” felt a large hand on his stomach, gentle restraint.
“Okay,” he hissed, deliberately relaxing his arm and allowing the guard to pull him away. He took a couple of deep breaths, then, back in tenuous control, growled at the guard, “Get him out of here!”
The guard nodded and reached for the prisoner’s arm. “Hey!” Forest protested, pulling away. “He attacked me! You need to do something.”
“I didn’t see nothin’,” the guard responded easily, getting a grip on the arm. “Let’s go.”
As the guard hustled Forest out of the room, Starsky sank into one of the chairs, folded his arms on the table, and lowered his head to rest on them. “Damn, he muttered, “I almost lost it.” Aw, Hutch, I’m not sure I can do this without you. Starsky’s eyes filled with tears and he shivered a little as, for the first time, he allowed himself to glimpse a vision of a future he’d tried to keep buried, a future in which he didn’t find his partner, and had to continue on, alone. It was an intolerable vision. He needed Hutch, wasn’t complete without him, needed the cool logical thinker to balance his own impulsiveness, needed the love and caring to balance the cruelty and evil he dealt with every day.
Suddenly, Starsky remembered hearing Hutch’s voice in his mind, and he felt a tiny prickle of warmth penetrate the vast, aching hole that seemed to fill him. Course, you’re still with me, aren’t ya, in my mind, and my heart? A soft smile curved his lips as he rose to his feet. I’m not giving up, he vowed, pushing aside his fears. I’ll find you, Hutch. I swear it. I’ll find you.
***
Starsky took a deep breath before climbing wearily out of the Torino. Hutch had been missing for three weeks now, with no clue as to what might have happened or why. His attempts to tie Forest to the disappearance had come to a dead end. According to prison officials, the man had had no unusual visitors, and had made no unexplainable phone calls during the past few weeks. The Warden, himself, had assured him that the tapes of those calls Forest had made had been thoroughly checked. It did not seem possible that the prisoner could have been behind anything happening on the outside. Starsky had let go of the theory reluctantly, unable to shake the feeling he’d gotten while talking to the slime that he was, in fact, involved. In the end, with nothing solid to go on, he had turned his energies elsewhere. He had worked day and night since then, checking out every other enemy they’d ever made, every John Doe in the hospital and the morgue, every rumor, no matter how far-fetched. This call had come from Dobey himself, fifteen minutes ago, the first solid lead, Hutch’s car, discovered by chance in a junkyard. There was no sign of Hutch, himself, Dobey had been quick to tell him. Starsky wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad news.
***
Dobey watched sadly as Starsky walked slowly toward him, the detective’s shadowed eyes riveted to the car his superior was standing beside; a rusted black LTD, latest in the long line of Hutch’s horrible vehicles. Starsky’s pain was palpable, radiating from him like the spines of a sea urchin. He hadn’t given up yet, Dobey knew, though most everyone else had. Starsky had yet to give in to grief or despair, still clinging to his belief that Hutch was out there, alone, waiting for him.
Starsky stopped beside his captain, gaze shifting from headlights to taillights. “What have you got?”
“Two uniforms chased a kid back through here after they caught him doing graffiti. Lost the kid, but recognized the car from the APB and called it in. Crime Lab team is on the way. The patrolmen jimmied the trunk just in case, but there’s nothing unusual inside. Otherwise they left it like they found it. I figured you’d want to have a look first.”
Starsky nodded silently, then moved around Dobey to the door of the vehicle. The black man almost reached a hand to stop him until, with relief, he saw Starsky take out a handkerchief and use it to carefully open the driver’s side front door. The detective leaned in and inspected the interior with his eyes, then looked over into the back seat. “No.”
Dobey was instantly attentive at the moaned word. “What is it?”
Starsky shook his head. “Hutch’s gun.”
Dobey gave an involuntary shudder. “Hutch wouldn’t visit his mother without his gun.” He heard the remembered words clearly in his mind, spoken by Starsky years ago, the first time Hutch had been missing. Damn.
Starsky carefully opened the back door to reveal a pizza box on the floor, with Hutch’s gun on top. Kneeling down, Starsky lifted the heavy weapon by the barrel with his handkerchief and snapped it open so he could see the chamber. “Full,” he sighed softly. He snapped the chamber back in place and rested the gun once again on the pizza box before rising to his feet and walking a few yards away. Dobey followed him anxiously. No matter how hopeful Starsky was trying to be, there could be no escape from the implication of finding Hutch’s unfired gun in the car like that.
Starsky turned toward the Captain as the black man approached, looking past him at the car with too-bright eyes. Suddenly, inexplicably, he laughed.
Dobey blinked in surprise. “Dave?”
“Ya know,” Starsky continued to laugh, a strange strangled sound, “it’s pretty funny. Someone wants to hide Hutch’s car and all they have to do is put it in a junkyard and no one spots it for three weeks. It fits in perfectly. I always told him…” He paused to take a shaky breath and wipe at his eyes. “I’ll really be able to rub that in when he gets back. Can’t ya just see it? A junkyard.” Despite his efforts to dry them, tears continued to flow.
Alarmed, Dobey grabbed the younger man by the arm and dragged him away from the group near the car. By the time they’d reached relative isolation, the odd laughter had changed to sobs, wracking sobs that shook Starsky’s whole body and left him gasping for breath.
“Easy, Dave,” Dobey tried to soothe him, drawing the smaller figure against his larger frame.
“It-it isn’t fair,” Starsky sobbed into his shoulder. “It isn’t fair!”
“No, I know it isn’t. It really isn’t.” Dobey awkwardly patted Starsky’s back, feeling totally inadequate to deal with the tortured emotions on display. He’d never seen Starsky lose control like this, no matter what the circumstances, but, of course, in the past he’d always had Hutchinson to turn to when he’d needed to.
‘”M sorry.” The muffled words accompanied an obvious attempt by the crying man to get himself together as he calmed his breathing, then pulled away and straightened up, hands covering his face. After another few moments, he lifted his head, swollen anguished eyes meeting the Captain’s. “I’m sorry, Captain,” he said huskily. “I’m really tired, and seeing the gun like that was kind of a shock.” He took a deep breath, wiped at his eyes again. “I’m really sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” Dobey assured him. “I know how you felt about Hutch…” Dobey felt a stab of pain in his own chest when Starsky cringed visibly at his use of the past tense. “It’s normal to be upset like this. We all are,” he finished hesitantly. Dobey noticed the man was trembling.
Starsky nodded slightly in response. “I, uh, I think maybe I need to get a little rest,” Starsky murmured, then looked up. “Could you tell the lab guys to call me if they come up with anything?”
“Of course. Right away.”
Another nod and Starsky moved off slowly toward his car. Dobey’s heart ached for his friend as he watched his slightly unsteady progress. Dobey knew that Starsky’s ability to stay calm and focused had been mostly the result of the hope he still had that, that his efforts could somehow save his partner. Now that hope was obviously beginning to crumble, and Dobey wasn’t at all sure what to expect of Starsky once it was gone. He’d never known any two partners who seemed to need each other more than these two and he’d long been afraid of what might happen to the other if one of them got killed. He’d had a glimpse of that nightmare the year before when Starsky had nearly been killed by Gunther’s hit men. Now, unfortunately, it seemed he was going to see the rest of it.
***
Hutch looked up hazily as Don walked into the room a little sooner than he’d expected. “You were in the LA papers the other day, Hutchinson,” the man who seemed to be in charge of his captors said pleasantly. “Wanna see?”
“Okay, sure. We love bein’ in the papers,” Hutch responded, reaching for the folded sheets.
“Page three,” Don informed him.
Hutch clumsily turned to page three and made the effort to focus his eyes. What he saw quickly destroyed the last bit of pleasant lethargy remaining from his most recent injection. It was the biggest story on the page, the headline prominent in large, bold print. “Missing Cop’s Car Found, Officer Feared Dead.” There were even pictures, a good-sized picture of his car, and, underneath that, two smaller photos; his own ID photo, and one of him and Starsky, taken outside the courthouse during the Gunther trial. Poor Starsk, he thought, touching the image lightly with his finger. Then he began to read.
“The car driven by Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson at the time of his disappearance was discovered by police yesterday, abandoned in Herbie’s Junkyard. The missing detective’s weapon was found in the back of the car, but, according to sources in the Department, there were no clues found that give any indication of the missing officer’s whereabouts. Detective Hutchinson has been missing for three weeks, and hopes that he will be found alive appear to be fading….”
Three weeks! I’ve only been here for three weeks!? Hutch had totally lost track of time since his capture, but it felt like years since he’d been snatched from his life and dragged into hell. The only reality he could cling to since awakening in his small, windowless room was the regular appearance of Don, or one of the other two captors, with his hypo of “medicine.” His existence had become one long drug-hazed nightmare, mostly vague, but horrifying. The few events that were clear in his mind were the worst; remembering them filled him with self-loathing.
He’d been kept tied to his chair when he’d first arrived, his struggles against his bonds leaving him with wrists so raw that the ropes were pink with his blood. He’d been freed only to relieve himself or eat, under close supervision. He’d tried, at first, to find out why he was there, what they planned to do to him, but his only answer, every time he asked, was that he should relax because they weren’t going to kill him. He’d found little comfort in that thought, and eventually, he’d given up asking. He’d also, eventually, given up fighting against his shots, and had begun to look forward to them. One day, not too long after his capture, he’d returned from a trip to the John to find the ropes gone and the room empty. He’d had time to stretch his muscles and take a shower and, inspired by the new freedom, he’d regained enough of his spirit that when Mike, the tall one, and Don came in to give him his next shot, he’d pulled away from them and tried to avoid it. He wasn’t really sure what he’d thought they’d do in response, maybe kill him, but they’d surprised him by simply stepping back and laughing. “Fine,” Don had chuckled. “We ain’t gonna fight you about it. We’ll leave you alone until you want it. All you gotta do is ask.”
“I’ll see you in Hell first!” Hutch had spat at them as they’d left, still chortling.
His eyes filled with tears as he recalled what had happened next.
He’d been determined to resist the siren call of the drug, he really had, and he’d lasted several hours until chills, cramps, and nausea had begun to assault his body, and he’d ended up curled against the door, sobbing, begging his captors for help. He could still see the triumph in their eyes as they’d finally come in to give him the shot, but the part of his mind that had screamed at him not to allow the sons of bitches to win had not been able to overcome his memories of the torture of withdrawal or the ecstasy of relief the drug could provide. In the end, he’d sickened himself by meekly holding out his arm for the injection, even thanking them when they’d given it to him.
Oh, Starsk, I’m a weak bastard, he thought, as that memory was replaced by one even more painful.
After that brief taste of withdrawal, Hutch had been so defeated and cooperative that his captors had given up even locking the door to his room. They had been careful not to make him suffer since that time, and he had been surprised and irritated one day when he’d found himself growing restless and uncomfortable because he hadn’t been given his injection on time. Deciding to see if he could do something about his situation, he’d cautiously opened the door to find Mike and Evan seated in the kitchen area of the small house watching baseball on TV, with a substantial number of beer cans sitting on the table in front of them, and with no sign of Don anywhere. Hutch remembered how his heart had raced as he’d realized he had a clear path to the front door through the living room. He’d still been functioning well enough to sneak soundlessly across the small space and escape out the door. He’d had no idea all along where they were since the windows in his room were all boarded up, but it had been a shock when he’d found himself in the yard of a farmhouse, surrounded on all sides by cornfields. A long driveway lead from the house to a dirt road and he’d made it a few hundred feet in that direction when he’d been startled by Mike’s voice from behind him, “Going someplace, Hutchinson7′
He’d turned to see the two baseball fans laughing just outside the doorway. They’d made no move to come after him. “Nearest road’s at least a two hour walk,” Mike had said with a smirk, “if you care for a stroll.”
With a shake of his head Hutch had continued to walk. “We’re sorry we were late with your goodies, pig,” Evan had called then, “but we’ve got it ready for you now.”
Hutch had continued down the road, still with no pursuit, until the first chill shook him, nothing unbearable, just a hint of things to come. Memories had flooded through his mind then, though he’d tried to suppress them, memories of trying to move while feeling the numbing cold of withdrawal, his gut twisted with cramps and nausea, of running down a seemingly endless alley, needing to get away from something horrible, but unable to make his legs work, finally falling in a struggling heap into the dirt. He’d survived because Starsky had been there that time, holding him, dragging him up into his car, protecting him from the demons. He’d begun to tremble more as he’d tried to move on, on legs that were suddenly weak and shaky, knowing there would be no Starsky to pick him up if he fell on this road, and that he’d never last two hours, which suddenly seemed like an eternity.
Thinking back on it, cheeks burning with shame, Hutch couldn’t even remember now how it had happened, but he’d suddenly found himself facing back toward the farmhouse, where he could see Mike holding up a syringe, the needle gleaming in the sunlight. “Come and get it,” he’d sung invitingly. And unable to resist, hating himself every step of the way, Hutch had returned to the house.
Hutch shuddered, tearing his mind from the memories and refocusing on the paper. He touched the picture of his partner once again. I know it hurts, but I’m glad you think I’m dead, Starsk. At least you’ll never have to know the truth of what I am. You’d be so ashamed of me. Hutch bit his lip against a sudden wave of nausea, not really sure whether it was the beginning of withdrawal or simply self-disgust. What’s the difference? He thought bitterly. I know what the cure is. He turned to Don, who was watching him with a snide smile curving his lips. “I feel sick. Give me something.”
“It’s a little early yet, pig.”
“I don’t care. I told you I feel sick.”
Don shrugged and left the room, momentarily causing Hutch to panic, but his tormentor returned after a minute with a syringe and some rubber tubing. “Didn’t like the story, my little junkie?” he asked sweetly, laying the hypo on the table.
“Give it to me.” Hutch demanded, feeling sweat beginning to drip down his back.
“Time to learn to do it yourself,” Don informed him, then left the room.
Hutch had trouble finding the vein through the tears that blurred his vision, but persisted single-mindedly until he’d done what he needed to take the pain away.
***
Starsky stared fixedly at the luminous dial of his Yamamoto Reflex as the second hand inched toward the twelve, then reached it and moved on: watched as the tiny numbers of the date changed. Midnight, August 28, 1980, Hutch’s birthday. Starsky’s hand trembled as he struck a match and lit the candle he’d had waiting on the table, illuminating the dining area of his apartment with a soft glow. Next he uncorked the chilled bottle of Chablis, Hutch’s favorite, and poured two glasses, then picked up one of them and held it up, gazing mesmerized at the golden liquid he swirled gently in the glass.
Hutch had been missing for six weeks now. The abandoned car found three weeks before had been wiped clean of prints, as had the gun, and even the pizza box. In the absence of any other evidence, there were some who believed that Hutch had set that up himself and taken off, tired of life as a cop. Most people, including Dobey, believed that Hutch had been killed by a party or parties unknown, and his body dumped in the ocean, never to be found. There was no one anymore who could believe he might have been forcibly taken, but was still somehow alive. With no ransom or other demands, and no claims of responsibility, that just didn’t make sense, even to Starsky, as much as he wanted to believe it could be true.
Starsky stilled the glass in his shaking fingers as best he could. “Happy birthday, partner,” he said softly, before lightly clinking the glass against the one still standing on the table, then taking a drink. Other than during those few moments in the junkyard and his visit to Forest in prison, Starsky had kept his emotions tightly in check since Hutch’s disappearance, but he was exhausted by the effort, physically and mentally. All the control he’d managed to maintain had not resulted in any progress on the case and, as he set the glass down next to its companion, the barriers gave way and the pain and grief and fear he’d worked so hard to hold back flooded through him. Tears filled his eyes and overflowed. “Oh, Hutch,” he cried in anguish, “where are you? I’ve tried, buddy, I’ve tried so hard to find you, but I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Laying his head on his arms he sobbed brokenly for endless minutes, until, drained of energy, he calmed enough to speak again.
“I can’t find you, Hutch,” he murmured, lifting his moist eyes to the ceiling. “Are you dead?” Part of him almost hoped so. As much as he selfishly wanted Hutch to be alive, in many ways it was easier to think that Hutch had died than to imagine him out there somewhere, scared or hurt, alone, waiting for a partner who never came. But, could he really bear that? Hutch gone forever, never to see him again, never to hear his voice soothing him when he was hurt, teasing him about his eating habits, never to feel those strong arms around him when he needed support, never to see that smile… It hurts, it hurts too much. How can I do it? How could he survive with that huge, gaping hole inside him?
But he couldn’t give up. Hutch wouldn’t want that. Hard as it was, he had to go on, if for no other reason than to find out who had done this to them, however long it took. Starsky took a deep breath, then lifted the wineglass again and drained it. The warmth of the alcohol found its way into his bloodstream, soothing him a little. He’d thought he’d get drunk when he’d started, but the emotional purging had left him tired enough that he felt like he could sleep a little now. With a small sigh he blew out the candle. “Night, Hutch,” he whispered. He rose quietly to put his empty glass into the sink before heading for the bedroom, leaving the full one standing alone on the table.
***
“Harold.”
Dobey paused on his way out the door and turned back toward his wife. “What is it, honey?” He’d left her busily preparing breakfast for the children.
“Will you be seeing David today?”
“I should be. I seem to recall he was on the roster for today, although I haven’t really been keeping very close track. I’ve wanted to let him set his own pace…”
“I was hoping you could keep kind of a close eye on him today, sweetheart. Maybe ask him to join us for dinner.” She paused, seeing her husband’s puzzled expression, then explained, “I noticed on the calendar that it’s Hutch’s birthday today.”
“Oh no! I’d totally forgotten.” Both detectives’ birthdays had long been noted on their social calendar, but keeping track of them had always been Edith’s department. “Thanks for reminding me, baby. This is bound to be very tough on Dave. I can hardly imagine how he must feel.”
“How is he doing?”
Dobey sighed. “He’s doing… I mean, he comes to work, spends every waking hour following up on every enemy he or Hutch ever had… but it’s been pretty bad since we found the car. Nothing to go on. Recently he’s been seeming more, I don’t know, resigned.”
“You think Hutch is dead, don’t you?” Edith’s eyes were moist.
Dobey reached out and lightly brushed her cheek. “Yes. It seems the most likely thing. I…,” Dobey’s throat tightened, “I don’t know if I’ve really let myself think about it a lot. I don’t want to accept it either, but, after all this time with no sign at all…I’m sure he is….gone.”
Edith moved forward to embrace her husband. “I’m going to miss him so much, and so will the children. They ask about him every day without fail.”
Dobey returned the hug. “I’ll miss him, too. He was a very fine man, a fine cop, and a very good friend.”
“We owe it to him to watch out for David,” Edith said firmly, as her tears overflowed and ran slowly down her cheeks.
Dobey leaned forward to kiss the tears away. “We will, baby. I’m just not sure how much it will help. I’m not sure how much anything will.”
“It will be hard, but I think he’s strong enough to get through this, don’t you? With our help?”
Dobey smiled a little. David Starsky was a strong man. He’d overcome a lot in his lifetime, and during his career…the death of his father, and his beloved fiancée, Terry, his own near-death at the hands of Gunther’s assassins. But this was different. In his youth, Starsky had had his family to help him through the loss of his father. During most of his adult life, however, Starsky had had one major support system, Hutch. Other than inner fortitude, what did he have to turn to now? “I hope so, baby,” he tried to reassure his wife. “With our help, and the Lord’s. I’m not sure we can do it alone.”
“We never are alone,” Edith smiled, hugging him tighter.
Dobey kissed his wife again. Thank the Lord for her, and her faith. It had gotten him through so much in his life. God willing, it would help Starsky, too. Something had to.
***
The sun was just coming up as Starsky stopped the Torino in front of Venice Place. Once out of the car, he stood quietly, looking up at the building for a long time before getting the courage to climb the stairs. He’d been there often during the past ten weeks, every few days at least, to water the plants and dust a little, but today was different. Today was the last time.
Initially, still hopeful that Hutch would be found, or return, Starsky had tried to keep the apartment, paying the rent himself for that first month, the landlord agreeing to use the security deposit for the second month’s fee. But Starsky couldn’t afford to continue indefinitely, and after more than two months with no clue, he’d reluctantly given up and decided to put Hutch’s things into storage.
Starsky blinked rapidly as he trudged up the steps, determined to hold it together and get this done. He’d slept only a few fitful hours the night before and his exhaustion made the task even more difficult. He was sweating by the time he reached the top of the narrow flight of stairs. His hand automatically grabbed the key from the top of the door and he unlocked it. He’d left the key there just in case Hutch somehow made it home one night, not wanting his partner to be locked out of his own apartment. He entered and looked around. The place looked the same as always, except for the stacks of folded up boxes on the floor and the lack of green plants. Those he’d delivered one-by-one to selected friends who’d promised to take care of them, other than the most prized “babies” now residing in his apartment. Huggy was due to arrive at nine with a van and some neighborhood boys he was paying to do the packing and moving, but Starsky’d come earlier, needing some time alone to gather the things he wanted to keep for himself and those few items Hutch’s parents had asked for, as well as some time to say good-bye.
He stepped into the living room and sank down on the couch. The rays of the early morning sun streamed in through the skylight, dusting everything in the room with gold. How many times had he awakened on that same couch, after a night of partying, or, more often, after many nights of hard work on a case, to watch hazy-eyed as his partner made some horrible breakfast, sunrays gleaming on that golden hair?
Starsky had been deliberately businesslike on his previous visits to Venice, always giving himself a time limit, focusing on carefully charting the health of Hutch’s precious plants, but this time he let his thoughts drift. Once he was open to it, the memories began to wash over him, like waves in the ocean, gently at first, lapping at the corner of his mind; snatches of memory, brief sensory images; the whir of the blender, the smell of coffee and Hutch’s herbal shampoo, the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to wake him. He didn’t try to stop the tears as they welled up, then spilled silently down his cheeks.
Starsky pushed himself to his feet and put together one of the boxes, then began to wander slowly through the apartment, finding and touching the objects most precious to his friend, and those most precious to him for the memories they inspired. The waves of memories came faster and stronger with each thing he perused, moments of triumph and tragedy, torment and tenderness. There was scarcely an item in the place that didn’t mean something to him, even the most mundane of them. The dining room table with its mismatched chairs reminded him of the time they’d handcuffed Dryden of IA to the table leg, a dark episode they’d somehow turned into a victory. On the counter in the kitchen was a row of natural vitamin bottles, replacements, after Gunther, for similar bottles Hutch had abandoned for a while, but had returned to with renewed vigor as Starsky had recovered. They reminded him of both of their determination to take care of themselves and each other after that near-disaster. For all the good it had done them, he thought bitterly.
On the upright piano, Starsky found Hutch’s favorite sheet music, and some songs his friend had written himself. These he placed in the box to keep, wondering if he would ever really be able to listen to any of them again without the pain being too much to bear. He would take the guitar, too, of course, “Hutch’s heart,” he’d often called it. That reminded him of the horrible episode they’d endured with the crazy nurse, Diana Harmon. Starsky had often thought about how much Hutch must have truly loved that apartment, since he had continued to live there, even after several incidents that would have driven most people away. How many times had the place been trashed by bad guys, or worse? That time, Diana had destroyed Hutch’s valued instrument, an injury almost as painful to his partner as the knife wound she’d later inflicted on him. Hutch’s music had been precious to him, had helped him stay sane. No matter how stressed out he’d been, Hutch had always been able to relax and find pleasure in it. And he’d been good, though shy about sharing it with strangers. Starsky had sometimes wondered if a career as a musician might have been a better choice for the sensitive blond. Maybe if he’d quit the force and tried to be a singer, he wouldn’t be…Starsky forced his thoughts back to the task at hand.
More than anything he did not want to believe that Hutch had stayed a cop just for him, especially now. Fighting the guilt of that idea was a battle he’d struggled with for a long time. When they’d decided to come back to the force after quitting because of Lionel Rigger, he had asked Hutch straight out if that was the case, and Hutch had denied it. Starsky hadn’t been sure if he’d believed him at the time, but he’d wanted to come back enough that he’d accepted the answer without pushing it. He had to believe now that Hutch had, in fact, been telling the truth. Thinking otherwise wasn’t something he thought he could live with.
Once Starsky made his way into the sleeping area, the collecting grew even more difficult. He sorted through the drawers of clothing, finding shirts and sweaters he recognized as originally his own, and others which had been gifts to his friend. The sight of the familiar garments and the scent of Hutch’s cologne which still clung to them made Starsky’s heart twist painfully in his chest. That pain grew to almost unbearable proportions when he got to the back of one drawer and found Ollie safely tucked in at the back. He had to sit down on the bed, then, clutching the bear to his chest, trying to catch his breath. Ah, Terry, my love, you promised you’d be with me when I needed you. I need you now. I feel so alone… When Terry had died, Hutch had been there constantly, holding him when he needed comfort, pushing gently at him when he started to wallow too much in self-pity. As hard as that had been, as much as he’d missed her, he’d never felt alone. Now, he wondered if he would ever feel not alone again. Anger welled up in him, anger that life had taken from him those people he cared for most. It wasn’t fair. How can I do it? How can I handle this kind of pain over and over and over? I’ve tried to be a good person… a good cop. Why is this happening? He curled onto his side on the bed and let himself cry, needing the release. It was a long time before he was able to gather enough strength to get up, tenderly lay Ollie into his box, and go on with his work.
Emotionally spent by this time, he moved rather woodenly as he searched through the rest of the drawers, not losing his composure again until he went back into the living area and began to sort through Hutch’s desk. His fingers trembled when he found a box of photographs. Just a glance at the one on top was almost enough to send him over the edge again, a photo taken by Huggy at the Pits the night they’d had a party to celebrate Starsky’s return to full-time active duty. Hutch had planned the whole thing and had managed to totally surprise him. They’d both been so happy that night…in the picture they were seated at the bar, stools pulled close together, arms around each other. He remembered the warmth of their shared joy, both slightly drunk, more on pleasure than on beer. Tears stung his eyes again, surprising him because it was hard to believe there were any left. He wanted desperately to believe that Hutch was still alive, that he’d find him somehow, that he might know that warmth again, but it was getting very hard to hang onto that, as days and weeks passed with no word. While outwardly he was stubbornly insistent on pursuing the case, and on refusing to consider Hutch as anything other than “missing”, inwardly he could feel his faith crumbling a little each day. He wanted to believe that Hutch was out there, but he was running out of scenarios he could create in which Hutch was being kept alive by whoever had him for some strange reason.
He’d always thought he would know if his partner was dead, that he would sense the severing of the connection between them somehow, but now he wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t felt any severing, but neither did he have a sense of his partner’s presence in his life anymore, just a big, aching hole where all those good feelings had been. He would never give up looking, not as long as he lived, but more and more, despite trying as hard as he could to stay optimistic, he felt like he was looking for Hutch’s killers, not for Hutch. Oh, Hutch. He blinked to clear his eyes of the tears that filled them and looked again at the picture. I want to believe you’re there, partner, so much. But it’s getting harder. I’ll keep looking though, no matter what, so if you are out there, don’t give up, and know that I love you. Starsky brought the picture up to his chest and held it against his heart for a moment, before placing it carefully back in the box. I’ll always love you.
He considered looking at more of the pictures, but decided he couldn’t handle it right then, and placed the whole box inside the larger carton, then moved on to collect a few more mementos. Within another few minutes he had finished and returned to the living room to sink down on the couch once more. He’d added only a few more things, and had ended up with many fewer than he’d originally thought he would. A paperweight made of petrified wood Hutch had bought on one of their weekend trips, Hutch’s chess set, and a few special books had joined Ollie in the box, but as he’d worked, Starsky had realized that their lives had been so entwined that gathering everything meaningful was impossible. He’d also realized that that didn’t matter. He didn’t need material objects to recall what he and Hutch had shared, those feelings and memories were emblazoned into his brain forever, to be relived whenever he opened himself to them.
He glanced at his watch. Huggy and the boys would soon be arriving, so he went to the bathroom to rinse his face, then made two trips to the car, one with the box, one with Hutch’s guitar. After trudging back upstairs once more, he took one last look around, then deliberately closed his mind and heart to thoughts and feelings, and set about the business of packing dishes.
***
“Starsky, I’d like to see you in my office, please.”
Starsky rose slowly from his seat facing the door. As the weeks had passed since Hutch’s disappearance, he’d found it unbearable to look across at his partner’s empty chair and had eventually decided that it was easier to sit there himself. He’d then moved his things to the opposite side, after carefully packing Hutch’s personal items in a box and storing them in the drawer. He paused on the way to Dobey’s office to try and stretch his abdominal muscles, cramped as a result of moving boxes and furniture out of Venice Place the day before, then walked in and sat down on one of the chairs across from his captain. A glance at his superior told him that Dobey was apprehensive, but there was no urgency in the black man’s manner, so whatever was up, it wasn’t news about Hutch.
“Something wrong, Cap’n?” Starsky asked.
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to talk to you about something. But first, did the move go all right?”
“Sure, Huggy was a big help.”
Dobey nodded. “It couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Starsky dropped his eyes, then gave a little shrug. “None of this is.”
Dobey could scarcely imagine what an understatement that was. His own grief over Hutchinson was still raw and painful. How much more must Starsky be feeling? The detective had been functioning amazingly well so far, better than Dobey had expected, controlling his grief and anger, staying focused on his job. It had to be requiring a superhuman effort on his part. Edith and he had tried to help as much as possible, inviting Starsky over several times, and Huggy had been doing his best, too, but Dobey knew that the comfort they offered had to be insignificant compared to the pain Starsky was feeling. Dobey sighed, knowing that what he was about to say could only make things worse. “I know it’s hard, and what I’m about to say may seem cruel right now. It has to be done, though.”
Starsky’s body tensed as he suddenly knew exactly why his captain had called him in. He’d known it was coming, but still wasn’t fully prepared for it. He forced himself to meet Dobey’s eyes and speak calmly and slowly, “What is it?”
“I assume there’s nothing new on the case?”
“No, nothin’.”
Dobey had put this moment off for as long as he’d felt he could, fearful of forcing Starsky to make a decision he wasn’t ready for. He had no idea, even now, how Starsky was going to react. “I think we need to talk about your future.”
I don’t have one, was the first thought that popped into Starsky’s head, but he managed to keep from blurting it out by chewing on his lower lip.
“You’ve been through a lot, Dave, the past few years,” Dobey continued. “Knowing that, I’ve got to admit I’ve been wondering if you’d want to stay with the job.”
Starsky sighed a little. “I’m a cop, Captain. It’s pretty much all I have left that means anything to me. Besides, I need to know for sure what happened to Hutch. Until then, at least, I’ll be here.”
Dobey nodded solemnly, honoring the sentiment. “I’m very glad to hear that, Dave. I want what’s best for you, but I would hate to lose you. As far as the case goes, we’ll never consider it closed, of course, but until some kind of lead turns up, Dave, we, uh, you, need to move on. You’re the best detective I’ve got, and there are other cases that need your attention.”
Starsky’s jaw firmed determinedly. “I’ll work on other things, Captain, but I work on Hutch’s case, too, for as long as it takes. That’s the way it’s gonna have to be. If I have to do it on my own time, I will.”
Dobey nodded agreement. He hadn’t expected any different. “There’s something else,” he continued a little hesitantly. “If you’re going to stay, I need to assign you a new…someone to work with you.” He looked at Starsky worriedly, waiting for the detective’s reaction. He all too clearly remembered Hutch’s icy response to a similar statement. “I already got a partner. I don’t need another one.” The memory hurt, and he had to fight to keep tears from filling his eyes. “It’s the policy, and, more than that, it’s for your safety.” He tensed, awaiting a fiery response from the man across from him.
Amazingly, Dobey was stunned, and a little concerned, when Starsky merely shrugged again and responded in a flat voice, “I figured it would happen sooner or later.”
Dobey had been so prepared for an argument that he wasn’t totally sure how to continue in the face of such a passive reaction. “Um, Dave, if you’re willing, I’d like to get your input into the decision. If there’s someone you know who you think you’d like to work with, I’d do my best to make it happen. You’ve been with one partner for so long, it won’t be easy with someone new…might be kind of hard to make it work.”
“I got no one in mind, Captain.” There was only one person in the world he really wanted to work with. “What I care about is that you find me a good cop. You do that, I’ll make it work.”
Dobey felt a surge of fatherly pride at the brave words. As a young cop, before he’d come to work under Dobey, Starsky had earned a reputation as a troublemaker and a “hot dog.” But Dobey had encountered him by chance and seen in him a courage and dedication to duty that was rare and, to him, admirable. Dobey had decided to learn more about the young officer, and, after checking things out, had decided that his “troubles” were mostly a result of over-zealousness, and an instinctive way of operating that allowed him to see things more quickly and clearly than others did, combined with an impulsiveness to act before those others were convinced the actions were correct. By the time he’d asked to have the rookie transferred to his precinct, the move was considered a last chance to save his career. Dobey had never once regretted his decision, despite the fact that Starsky sometimes aggravated him to death, and once Starsky had been working for someone who understood him, he had blossomed into one of the finest officers on the force, then, once paired with Hutchinson, into one of the best detectives Dobey had ever known. Starsky was a cop to the depths of his soul, more so than Hutchinson had been, but the two had grown so close and interdependent that Dobey had wondered whether Starsky could, or would, continue to function without his partner, no matter how important the job was to him. It looked like he was willing to try, at least, and Dobey was glad for it. And he was determined to find Starsky a hell of a partner. It was the least he could do. He’d done a lot of research in preparation for this meeting, searching through stacks of evaluations and arrest reports, and making personal contact with the superior officer of each promising candidate. He pushed a file he’d compiled about his final selection across the desk toward the quiet man sitting facing him. “If you don’t have anyone in particular in mind, I’ve got someone we may want to try.”
Starsky’s hand only trembled a little as he reached for the folder.
***
Alec Saunders stopped in the hall to look at his reflection in the glass window one last time. The brown-haired, hazel-eyed man he saw there looked calm, but he didn’t think he’d been this nervous and excited at the same time since he’d asked his wife to marry him. He felt almost guilty about how pleased he was that things had worked out this way. He’d worked hard for the past two years in Robbery, hoping to build the kind of reputation that could get him transferred to Homicide. He’d been thrilled when his captain had informed him that his request for a transfer had been approved, never dreaming of the bonus he’d unexpectedly receive, the chance to be partnered with Sergeant David Starsky. He’d never actually met the man, though he’d seen him, and his dead partner, at a few department events and on television. The team had been legendary in the department even before Gunther, and now…
Dobey had actually come to Robbery to talk to him in person about the idea, a strange honor, and had warned the young officer that it might not be easy. Alec was sure it wouldn’t be. How could it? Starsky had been paired with Hutchinson for nine years, friends for longer, and it was well-known how close they had been. He’d assured Dobey he had no fantasies of replacing the blond cop; that he was only looking forward to working with a fine, veteran officer whose arrest record was second to none. And, yes, he was prepared to be patient.
Alec had felt confident during that conversation. Dobey had seemed to sense that and had decided to give the pairing a try. Now that Alec was about to meet Starsky himself, however, his confidence was wavering. Ever since he’d told his colleagues what was happening, he’d heard a lot about his soon-to-be partner from just about everyone; the man had a short temper, the man was difficult to work with, had been even when Hutchinson was alive, the man was a trouble-maker, the man was “pushy.” Anticipating the rumors, Dobey had claimed otherwise, that Starsky was simply serious about his work, and impatient with anyone who wasn’t. If Dobey was right, as he hoped, there would be no problem. He was serious about his work, too, and he was prepared to deal with obstacles; after all, what could you expect from a man whose long-time partner and close friend was missing and probably dead?
Squaring his shoulders, Alec continued down the hall to Dobey’s office, knocked on the door, then entered at Dobey’s invitation. Starsky was already there, seated in front of Dobey’s desk, but he rose as Alec entered. The dark-haired man was thinner than Alec remembered, and pale, but the dark-blue eyes met his in a steady gaze. “Sergeant David Starsky, this is Sergeant Alec Saunders,” Dobey said.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Sergeant Starsky.” Alec held out his hand.
Starsky’s face was unreadable as he took the offered hand in a firm grip. “The Captain tells me you’re a good cop,” he said.
“I believe I am.”
“Then this will work out fine,” Starsky stated. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
“I’ll do my best,” Alec responded. He hesitated before saying anymore, but decided he needed to start from the beginning being honest with his partner. “I wish the circumstances were different, I really do, but I am looking forward to working with you.”
Starsky nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “Okay.”
Dobey, seemingly satisfied with things, moved forward a step. “Why don’t you go out and get Saunders settled into his desk, then familiarize him with your patrol area and so on.”
“Let’s go,” Starsky said, indicating the door to the squad room.
“After you, sir,” Alec replied.
“Call me Dave.”
***
“Morning, junkie.”
Hutch looked up in mild surprise as Don entered his room. As far as he could remember, his chief captor had been gone the past few days. Don looked at the tray in front of the blond and shook his head. “You ain’t eatin’ much lately.”
Hutch shrugged. “Whadda you care?” He didn’t really have the energy to eat anymore, and his captors were concerned enough about it to nag at him. The only reason he gave in occasionally was because he was still a little curious as to why they were doing this, and still had some hope of finding out before he died. Other than that, the only thing he really cared about in life anymore were his shots, which, aside from giving him pleasure, he knew would eventually kill him.
“We’ve told you before, piggie, it’s part of our job to keep you alive.”
“Why?” Maybe that was why they’d been limiting his dope lately, spreading out the doses; not enough to make him really miserable, but enough to keep him more alert, and on edge. He was worried that their seemingly endless supply might be running out, though they hadn’t said that. Running out, that scared him.
Don ignored his question and held out a newspaper. “Lookie here, your ex-buddy made the papers again. Looks like even he’s given up on you now.”
Hutch reluctantly took the paper. Throughout his stay, his three captors had enjoyed taunting him with the fact that he’d been pretty much forgotten back home. There was rarely any mention of him anymore. It had bothered him a lot in the beginning, but not much anymore. He wasn’t worth remembering anyway. A glance at the top of the paper told him it was the beginning of October. That meant he’d been there over two months. It seemed so much longer than that. “Second page this time,” Don informed him. He opened the paper and quickly found the article. “Case of Missing Officer No Longer on Front Burner” the headline read. The story described a news conference at which the Commissioner, when questioned about his case, had replied that the investigation was ongoing, but that there were currently no active leads. That wasn’t too surprising or interesting, but there was a picture of Starsky there, a close-up of him, standing beside another man Hutch didn’t recognize. Aw, Starsk, you look terrible, Hutch thought sadly. His friend was very thin and tired looking. Get on with your life, buddy, and quit worrying about me, Hutch wished him. He read the caption under the photo, “The news conference was attended by Sgt. David Starsky, former partner of the missing Detective Hutchinson.”
“Former partner,” that hurt. Hutch was surprised. He’d thought he was beyond caring about things like that anymore.
“See that guy next to him?” Don asked, with a malicious gleam in your eye. “Know who that is?”
Hutch shook his head. “I don’t care.”
“Really? Well, that’s Detective Saunders, Starsky’s new partner. How do you like that? You’ve been replaced already.”
Hutch tossed the paper to the floor, then moved to the mattress he used to sleep on and threw himself down on it, turning his face to the wall. “I don’t care,” he repeated. But he did care. Tears stung his eyes, and nausea churned in his gut. Starsky had a new partner; Hutch a memory, a nothing. Yeah, and what’s he supposed to do, he asked himself bitterly. Wait forever for the wandering junkie to come home? That’s a laugh.
“Want your medicine?” Don asked.
Without turning around, Hutch held out his hand behind him, seeking the only relief he had left to him.
***
Alec turned his gaze momentarily from the house he was surveying to the man dozing in the seat beside him and sighed a little. He’d been partnered with Dave for more than two weeks now, and still felt like he was working with a total stranger. In many ways the beginning of their association had gone better than he’d ever hoped it could. Contrary to all the rumors, Dave had not been difficult to work with at all. In fact, he’d been helpful, unfailingly polite, and he’d seemed to have accepted Dobey’s assurances that Alec was a good cop and had treated him like an equal. So why, he wondered, was he feeling so dissatisfied? He knew the answer, and berated himself for not really showing the patience he’d promised Dobey he would. The fact was, he wanted David Starsky to like him, and that goal, it seemed, was impossibly far off. It was not that he’d expected to become bosom buddies right away…that would have been ridiculous under the circumstances, but he had hoped to at least be allowed to relate to his partner in some ways that weren’t strictly professional, and that simply hadn’t happened. While Dave had been perfectly willing to share any opinions and information related to the job they were doing, he had been completely rejecting of any attempts to discuss anything personal, not even willing to join into discussions about such mundane subjects as which sports he preferred. Any such questions had been deflected with a monosyllabic answer and an immediate change of subject to something work related. Several invitations to join his family for dinner after work had also been politely rebuffed. Alec had no doubts in his mind about why this was so, but that didn’t make it any easier when he had to spend twelve hours a day with a man who clearly wanted absolutely no personal relationship with him. He tried not to take it personally, knowing intellectually that Dave would have reacted this way to anyone paired with him, but it was hard not to somehow believe that it was a failing in himself that made it so easy for Dave to completely cut him off from any sort of relationship other than a professional one.
A car drove past them and turned into the driveway of the house, distracting him from his thoughts. “Dave,” he hissed, “I think we struck paydirt.”
Starsky was instantly awake and alert, lifting the binoculars that had been resting in his lap to his eyes and focusing on the man exiting the car. “All right,” he said softly, “it’s my old friend Frank Worner, come home to mama.” He’d gotten a call that morning from Huggy, tipping him off to the fact that the felon was back in town, risking a visit to his girlfriend despite the outstanding warrant on him. He and Hutch had busted Worner months before on an attempted murder charge, but he’d been let out on bail by an idiot judge, and had left town within hours. “Let’s go,” he said to Alec, quietly opening his door and slipping out.
Alec followed suit and the two men raced toward the house in a crouch. They made it within range just as Worner’s woman was opening the door. “Freeze, turkey!” Starsky shouted.
Worner slammed the door and turned to run, only to be greeted by Alec, weapon drawn. “He said, ‘Freeze.'”
Worner froze, then slowly lifted his hands into the air. “Damn you, Starsky! Ain’t you got nothin’ better to do?”
“Nope,” Starsky replied calmly, as he dragged the prisoner’s arms down to cuff him.
Infuriated, Worner continued to talk. “Who the hell is this?” he sneered, with a jerk of his head toward Alec. “Your new partner, right? Now that Blondie’s rottin’ in hell where he belongs?”
“Shut up,” Starsky said, his voice quiet, but menacing. “Just shut up.”
“I don’t feel like it, Curly. Don’t like hearin’ the truth, huh? Where do you think your precious partner is? And where were you when someone was offin’ him, huh, Starsk?”
“Don’t call me that!” Alec stared open-mouthed as his partner swung Worner around by his cuffed hands and slammed him against the door. “I said, ‘shut up’ you filthy bastard!” Starsky continued, slamming a fist into the other man’s stomach.
“Dave, Dave, stop it!” Recovering from his momentary shock at his partner’s actions, Alec moved forward and grabbed Starsky’s arm before he could swing again, pulling him back and half-turning him so Starsky could see the younger man’s face. “Dave, c’mon,” he pleaded.
For a moment, Starsky pulled against the hold before turning so that his eyes met Alec’s. Alec felt a shiver go up his spine at the depth of the pain he saw there. Another moment passed, then Starsky relaxed his arm and opened his hands. “Sorry,” he muttered through clenched teeth, as he took a few steps backward. “Get him in the car, will ya?”
Alec nodded and roughly yanked Worner toward the vehicle. “Hey,” the prisoner yelled angrily, “he hit me. You saw him. That’s police brutality. Wait till my lawyer hears about that!”
‘That’s what you get for resisting arrest, scum!” Alec growled in reply, relieved when a black-and-white pulled up at the scene. He quickly dragged Worner toward it, almost shoving him at the patrolman who emerged from the passenger side. “Take him in and book him,” he requested, after identifying the felon. “My partner and I want to question his lady, then we’ll be down.” He watched as Worner was placed in the car and driven off, then turned in search of his partner, who was standing a few yards away, his back turned. Deciding to leave him his space, Alec said nothing, instead sliding behind the wheel of their car to wait.
It was only another few minutes before the door opened and Starsky got in, his emotions once again masked behind a calm, but serious exterior. “I’m sorry, Alec,” he said immediately. “I really lost it there, but I want you to know that it won’t happen again.” His voice was quiet and steady.
“It’s okay, Dave,” Alec assured him. “It’s understandable under the circumstances…”
“No, it’s not. I let my emotions get the best of me and there’s no excuse for it. I need to thank you for stopping me before I screwed up even more.”
Alec let a chuckle escape, wanting to lighten the mood. “Man, you scared him. He was hollerin’ police brutality all the way to the car.”
Starsky shook his head. “I guess he’s got a right…and I want you to know, I don’t expect you to cover for me. If he makes a stink, you do what’s right, okay?”
Alec turned a steady gaze on his partner. “He was resisting arrest. That’s what I saw.”
Starsky opened his mouth as if to protest, but then was silent for a moment before uttering a soft, “Thanks. Let’s get outta here, huh?”
Alec nodded and put the car into gear. He was tempted to say more, offer some words of comfort for the anguish he’d had such a brief but powerful glimpse of, but it was clear that Starsky’s wall was back up, and he decided to leave it alone for the time being. He contented himself instead with the knowledge that he’d at least learned a little more about his enigmatic partner, and that he finally thought he understood why Starsky had insisted on Alec calling him Dave, when everyone else in the precinct, including very long-time acquaintances called him Starsky. Guess there’s only one person who can call you Starsk, huh? he silently asked the man beside him, as they headed back to the station.
***
Hutch staggered from the little bathroom to the door, kept locked again just since the night before. He pounded on it with a sweaty hand. “Hey, Don, hey! I’m dyin’ in here. I need some help!” He sank down to sit curled against the door, jaw clenched against the nausea, trembling with terror as well as the pain of withdrawal. He’d sensed for the past couple of weeks that something was different, changing. He’d feared they were running out of heroin, and now that fear seemed justified. Oh, God, I can’t do this. I just can’t. Suddenly the door opened behind him, pushing him over and toward the center of the room. Looking up desperately from the floor, Hutch watched as all three of his captors walked into the room to stand looking down on him.
“You’re a mess, piggy,” Don sneered, shaking his head. “How are you ever gonna make it on the streets?”
Hutch had no idea what he was talking about. “Don’t you have anymore?” he asked fearfully. “I need help.”
“Don’t get so excited,” Mike said with a chuckle. “We have some more. We just wanted to see what you’d do. Kind of a little going-away party.”
“G-g-going away?” Hutch was confused for a moment, then oddly hopeful. “You gonna kill me now?”
Don reached down and roughly pulled Hutch to his feet, then dragged him over to the chair he’d once been tied to and shoved him down into it. “No such luck, junkie. Actually, our work is almost over. We’re gonna let you go.”
“Let me go? What-what do you mean?”
“What I said. Now just relax.” Don held out his hand and Mike handed him a syringe and some tubing. “See what we’ve got for you?”
Oh, thank God. Hutch held out his arm gratefully. He wasn’t totally sure he believed they weren’t going to kill him, and wondered if the syringe might contain an overdose, or maybe some poison. It didn’t really matter though. Either way his suffering would be over, and that was fine with him.
Don tied the tubing around the quaking arm, then eased the needle home. He watched dispassionately as the slim body relaxed, the blond letting his head fall back with a sigh. When he was sure that Hutch was beyond struggling, he nodded sharply at Evan, who took a bottle of chloroform and a rag out of his pocket, wet the rag with the chemical, and placed it across the unresisting prisoner’s mouth. Within moments Hutch’s limp body slid from the chair onto the floor.
***
Hutch woke up hurting. He curled into a ball under the covers and moaned miserably. “Oh, God, why are you doing this to me?” When there was no response, he pulled the blankets off his head and squinted out into the room. It took some effort to focus, but once he’d succeeded he quickly pushed himself to a sitting position and stared around in shock. He was no longer in the room he’d called home for the past three months. Instead, he found himself lying in one of two double beds in what was obviously a hotel room. What the hell? He was alone in the room, and there was no sign at all of his three guards. Looking around dazedly, he saw a notepad on the table next to him and picked it up. “Days Inn, Chicago, Illinois” it read across the top of the paper. Chicago? He threw off the covers and climbed unsteadily out of bed, then staggered to the window and looked out, squinting at the bright sunlight of midday. It sure as hell looked like it might be Chicago. It most certainly was a very big city. He turned and made his way toward the door, heart pounding. Peeking into the bathroom on the way, he saw that it was empty, then, holding his breath, he tried the knob. The door opened easily onto a drab, deserted hallway. Was it possible? Was it really possible that they’d let him go? He closed the door gently, locked the deadbolt, and turned back to the interior of the room, eyes fixing on the phone sitting on the table between the two beds. Call Starsky, he thought, I can call Starsky. He had taken only a few steps in the direction of the phone when a wave of nausea gripped him, forcing him to turn back to the bathroom instead. There was nothing in his stomach, but he stayed bent over the toilet gasping and dry heaving for endless minutes until the spasms finally eased. Exhausted, he climbed to his feet, using the edge of the sink as support, and bent to rinse his face in cold water. When he came up for air, he was surprised to see a shaving kit on the counter. It was slightly open and the very edge of a plastic bag stuck up through the hole…could it be? Please, please….Hutch dragged the zipper open and his eyes widened in shock and delight when he saw the contents….his captors had not totally abandoned him after all. There, inside, was all the paraphernalia he would need to prepare himself an injection, along with a packet of heroin that looked to be enough for two or three days. Weak-kneed with relief, Hutch sank down to sit on the tiled floor and fixed the hypo as he’d been taught to do, then injected himself. As the rush flooded him, he leaned back against the vanity and enjoyed the brief oblivion. When that wore off, he decided to move to the bed, and reached for the shaving kit, realizing only then that there was more inside, money and an index card. “There’s more where this came from,” the writing on the card said, then gave a phone number. “Must be Christmas,” Hutch chuckled to himself, still enjoying the warm lethargy of the shot. Carefully, he counted the money…two thousand dollars exactly. “And I must’ve been a very good boy.” Amused at himself, he sank back and laughed for several minutes. By then he was feeling more sober and pulled himself to a standing position, remembering the bed again. A nap sounded good. Then he would have to decide what to do next with his newfound freedom.
As Hutch sat down on the edge of the bed, his eyes found the phone again. Wait a minute! I was gonna call Starsky. I forgot about it. I actually forgot about it. The initial euphoria of the junk vanished like smoke. Junkie, he cursed himself inside his head. Junkie…one glimpse of the white stuff and your partner can go to hell. That’s great. That’s just great. He threw himself down and buried his face in the pillow. Weak bastard. You’re worthless. You’re alone, you’re finally free, and what’s the first thing you do? You shoot up! What the hell were you thinking of anyway? Call Starsky and tell him what? Hi, buddy, I’ve got good news and bad news…I’m not dead, but I’m a junkie. Come and get me. Sure, that’d be great. IA would love it. Where ya been, Starsky? Oh, no place special, Simonetti, just helpin’ my partner look for a fix. What a joke!
Tears filled Hutch’s eyes and dampened the cloth of the pillow. Thank God he hadn’t called Starsky, he thought. What had he been thinking of? He remembered the newspaper article they’d showed him, with its picture of Starsky and his new partner. Starsky thought he was dead. He’d gone on with his life, made a new start. And that was the best way for it to be. If Hutch came back, it could only bring his friend pain, ruin his career. And for what? What was Starsky supposed to do with a junkie? Hutch grimaced against the pillow, imagining Starsky’s face when he found out what Hutch had become. What would he see there? Disgust? Pity? He didn’t know and he didn’t really want to find out. What he did know was that he wouldn’t call him. Ever. Calling Starsky would be selfish. Just because he’d ruined his own life, he wasn’t gonna do that to Starsky. There might not be much good left inside him, but he could do that for his friend and feel proud of it. If he didn’t have anything else, he could have that. Mind made up, Hutch wearily turned his face away from the phone, closed his eyes, and let himself drift into sleep.
***
“Dammit, there’s nothin’ here!” Starsky ripped the cassette out of the machine and hurled it against the wall of the interrogation room. Startled, Alec looked up from where he’d been listening to his own tape to see his partner lurch to his feet knocking over his chair in the process. “I need some air,” Starsky growled at him, before turning and leaving the room, banging the door behind him.
“Damn,” Alec swore softly, fighting the temptation to get up and run after the distraught man. He knew his interference would not be welcome. His partner of six weeks still had a wall around him designed to keep Alec away, and it showed no signs of weakening yet. This had made the past two weeks particularly tough on them as they’d focused full-time on the case of Dave’s missing partner.
During the first few days of their partnership, Dave had talked to him a little about Hutch’s disappearance, and his investigation of it, which Dobey had relegated to a lower priority when he’d paired them. Dave had seemed resigned to that, and during the following month they had concentrated on other cases, with Dave pursuing Hutch’s case on his own time. From a few things Dave had said, Alec knew that his prime suspect was an imprisoned crime boss named Ben Forest, though he wasn’t sure what had lead his partner to that conclusion.
Ben Forest had been released from prison two weeks before. Somewhat to Alec’s surprise, Dobey had let Dave persuade him to allow the pair to put aside their other cases in order to arrange and supervise an intense surveillance of Forest immediately following his release. Alec wasn’t sure if that was because Dobey had so much faith in Dave’s instincts that he also believed the man responsible for Hutch’s disappearance, or simply because he wanted to make Dave feel better, but the Captain had even managed to obtain permission for wiretaps on Forest’s home and office phones, the results of which had just sent Dave tearing from the room.
From the minute Forest had left prison two weeks before, his every move had been watched and catalogued, his every word monitored. In all that time, after reading pages of logs, and listening to hundreds of phone conversations, there had not been even the faintest hint that Forest had had anything to do with Hutch’s disappearance or anything else even slightly illegal. In fact, the newly released prisoner seemed totally determined to set up legitimate business interests and become a model citizen, all of which had Dave frustrated and upset. Alec had the feeling that Dave had been focusing his hopes for weeks on Forest leading him to the answers he’d been seeking. As those hopes faded, Dave seemed to be reaching some sort of breaking point, and Alec had no idea what to do to help him.
He jumped a little as the door opened and Starsky walked back into the room, looking strained and exhausted, but calm. The older man smiled a little. “Sorry about that little display, Alec,” he said. “I guess I’m getting pretty tired of listening to how that scum is gonna make himself a millionaire.”
“It is pretty disgusting,” Alec agreed. “I can understand why you’re frustrated.”
Starsky sat down across from him and took a breath. “I, um, I’ve been thinkin’ and I’m gonna go tell Dobey that I think it’s time to call off the full-time surveillance. If we haven’t turned anything by now, I don’t think we’re going to. I hate to waste anymore time and energy on it.”
Alec had to agree, but felt oddly reluctant to give up trying. He knew what that had to cost his partner. “If you feel that’s best. I’m willing to hang in with it as long as you want to.”
“I know you are, and I appreciate it, but it ain’t getting us anywhere.” Starsky shook his head wearily. “You know,” he said wistfully, “all this time I’ve really believed it was him. Now, I’m not so sure anymore…”
Starsky’s voice trailed off into silence, but Alec could almost here the unspoken words, “and I don’t know where to go from here.” Alec felt like crying, knowing how much that had to hurt.
“Let’s clean this stuff up, huh?”
“It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.”
Starsky nodded gratefully. “Thanks, kid. I’ll go see if I can find Dobey.
Alec waited as Starsky left the room, then silently began gathering up the tapes and equipment. He wanted to hope that maybe now Dave could put his former partner’s death behind him and move on, but he doubted it.
***
“So,” Dobey concluded, “congratulations again. It was a good bust.”
Saunders positively beamed at him, but Starsky merely nodded acknowledgment, smiling slightly.
“Now get out of here and do the same on the Hill Park murder.” Dobey dismissed the men with a wave of his hand, but kept his eye on the pair until the door shut behind them. Then he sighed. Saunders and Starsky were fast becoming one of the most successful teams in the department, and they’d been paired less than six months. So why wasn’t he feeling better about it? Why was he so worried about Starsky?
The veteran detective had been remarkably easy to partner. Saunders was a good cop, and Starsky was keeping his part of the bargain. He was making it work. He had treated the young addition to the team with respect from day one, and they seemed to work very well together. There had been no arguments, no complaints from either of them, life went on….or work did, anyway. The day that Dobey had asked Starsky whether he was going to stay a cop, Starsky had told him that was the only thing left in his life that meant anything. Since then, his friend had been living those words. Far from being unable to function well, as Dobey had once feared he might if he lost his partner, Starsky was, if anything, a better cop than before. He still possessed the finest instincts Dobey had ever known, and now he accompanied those instincts with a single-minded sense of purpose and dedication. Dobey actually pitied the felon Starsky set his sights on. The man was a dark and deadly presence in the squadroom, doing his job with an intensity that left little room for anything else. The new Starsky was serious about his work, coldly efficient, worked overtime by choice, and turned in his reports on time. As his captain, Dobey loved it. As his friend, he mourned the change.
During the years he’d been partnered with Hutch, Starsky had often been infuriating, but just as often had been a breath of fresh air in the grim atmosphere of Homicide. He’d had a boundless enthusiasm for life that somehow was contagious, and while he’d displayed an intimidating street persona, Starsky had been as much a mischievous little boy as a serious, hard-nosed cop, with a good sense of just when his partner or anyone else needed a lift. Hutch’s disappearance had left the cop, but that little boy was gone completely…and Dobey missed him.
The new Starsky had little, if any, social life. He attended office parties and still belonged to the bowling league, but was more a spectator than a participant. Despite frequent invitations, he’d been at the Dobey’s only once in the past month or two, on the occasion of Rosie’s birthday, and Dobey had frequently heard him making excuses to turn down invitations to join his new partner’s family for dinner. He seemed to have no energy for anything but work, spending normal working days doing the job with his partner, and all his spare time still following leads on Hutch’s case. Although he understood why Starsky was isolating himself, Dobey knew it couldn’t be healthy for long.
A ringing phone interrupted Dobey’s reflections, and police business kept him occupied after that until it was finally time to go home. As he left, he glanced through the glass windows into the squadroom, and was not surprised to find Starsky there, reading a file and making notes. The room was fairly empty, Saunders long since having gone home to his family. Shaking his head, Dobey opened the door. “Starsky, did you get evicted from your apartment or something? Looks like you’ve been living here lately.”
Starsky looked up, startled and confused. The joking words had been delivered in such a serious tone, he wasn’t quite sure how to take them. He attempted a smile. “Very funny.”
“No, Dave, it isn’t.” Dobey’s expression was concerned, eyes full of compassion.
Starsky met the eyes for a moment, then dropped his own. “I’m okay,” he said finally.
Dobey wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure what. Telling Starsky to get out and have some fun just didn’t seem right. “Don’t stay too late,” was what eventually emerged.
Starsky smiled a little. “I won’t. Just need to get a little more done here. You have a good evening and say hi to Edith and the kids.”
Dobey smiled back. “I’ll do that. They miss you. You need to come over for an evening soon.”
“I’ll do that,” Starsky assured, turning back to his file.
Dobey hesitated another moment, then shut the door and started back down the hallway. For all his outward calm, Dobey knew that Starsky was still hurting inside. Much as he wanted to help, he also knew he had to let his friend handle his grief in his own way. He just hoped that the healing power of time would eventually work its magic, and that the little boy was only hiding, not gone forever.
***
Starsky had been home for about a half hour when the doorbell rang. When he opened it, he was very surprised to see Sam Friedman, Hutch’s lawyer, standing there, looking nervous.
“Sam? Come on in.” Starsky backed up to let his visitor in, and gestured him toward the couch in the living room. As executor of Hutch’s will, Starsky had recently been in touch with Friedman to try to sort through the legal red tape surrounding the status of Hutch’s estate. Hutch had been missing for over six months now; the police investigation currently listing him as “missing, but presumed dead.” Starsky’s concern about Hutch’s relatives had lead him to consult with Friedman, who had begun petitioning the courts to release Hutch’s assets, and order his insurance companies to pay his survivors the benefits they were due. Painful as Starsky had found the duty, he had felt compelled to proceed with it for the sake of Hutch’s niece and nephew, who were the beneficiaries of his partner’s pension and work-provided life insurance policy, as well as for Hutch’s parents, who needed some kind of closure. “Is something wrong with the papers?” he queried.
“No, nothing. Everything is going along as expected, but as I was preparing the documents for court, I remembered something. I, uh, I wasn’t sure how to handle it exactly, but the more I thought about it…”
“Can I get you something to drink? Starsky interrupted. Friedman seemed very uncomfortable and Starsky wanted to try to put him more at ease.
“No, thank you. I’m only staying a minute. I’m on my way home. The thing is that Ken gave me a letter to keep for him, a letter he wanted me to give you in the event of his death. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed to me that it wouldn’t be right to wait. I mean, I’m sure Ken would have wanted you to have the letter now, not necessarily wait until everything was official…which will probably take several more months if not longer.” The lawyer paused, noticing that Starsky looked pale and sweaty. “Dave, are you all right?”
Starsky nodded and tried for a smile. “Yeah, sure. I just wasn’t expecting this. It’s kind of a shock…I was beginning to think I’d never hear anything from him again, and now this…”
“Which is why I came by here instead of dropping this off at your office. I figured you might want some privacy.” Friedman reached into his pocket and pulled out a white, business-sized envelope. Even from where he sat, Starsky could read the painfully familiar writing. “For Starsky, To Be Delivered in the Event of my Death.”
The lawyer held out the envelope, but it took Starsky several long seconds before he could make himself reach out and take it in trembling fingers. “Dave,” Friedman asked gently, “would you like me to stay while you read it, or maybe call someone to come over?”
“No, no, thank you. You were right to bring it here. I do, um, need privacy. I just, seeing the writing, you know…it’s hard.”
“I’m sorry. I know you two were close. I know all of this is hard on you.”
“Yeah, kinda difficult. But I’ll be okay. And I appreciate your bringin’ this by, I really do.” As he finished, Friedman stood and Starsky rose shakily to his feet to accompany him to the door. Friedman patted him on the shoulder, then departed, leaving Starsky standing there, dazed, looking down at the envelope through tear-blurred eyes.
As much as he wanted to read it, he was afraid to, afraid he couldn’t handle it, afraid of what the words might do to his always tenuous control. Gathering his strength, Starsky went back to the couch, then, very carefully, opened the envelope, not wanting to tear the paper. He removed two handwritten sheets and had to stop again; the sight of all those words in Hutch’s hand overwhelming to him. He had been extremely distressed that Hutch had vanished from his life without their having a chance to say good-bye. Now that the chance was at hand, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take it…it seemed so final.
At last he forced his eyes to the page and began to read:
Dear Starsk,
If you’re reading this, I know I’m not with you anymore. I’m really sorry about that. I hope you know that I would have never chosen to leave you alone, and, however this went down, I know we both did our damnedest to prevent it. Please don’t feel guilty that you couldn’t pull off the miracle this time. I’d have been killed years ago if it hadn’t been for you, but sometimes things happen we can’t control.
I think I know a little bit how you feel. I’ve had a letter waiting for you for a while now, but I’ve revised it every once in a while. This version is being written just a few days before you come back to active duty…you were shot about five months ago. The twenty-four hours when I thought you were going to die were the worst of my life. I hate to think of you hurting like that for real, and I hope this letter helps a little.
I didn’t feel like I had to write this to let you know how I feel about you, ’cause I think you know, but it can’t hurt to say it again. I love you, Starsk, as much as I’ve ever loved anyone. Maybe more importantly, I know you love me. I hope the timing of all this wasn’t bad…I mean, I hope whatever happened didn’t happen when we’d had a fight or something, but if it did, don’t worry. I never have doubted your love for a minute, no matter how things were going between us temporarily. I don’t think many people are lucky enough to have that security in their life, and I know I abused it once in a while, but I was grateful for it every day. Thank you.
Starsky had to stop for a moment, his eyes so full of tears that he couldn’t read the writing anymore. He’d thought about his last conversation with Hutch a thousand times, torturing himself with the knowledge that he’d been taking his partner for granted, and had been ordering him around mercilessly without the tiniest word of gratitude. I did love you so much, Hutch, he thought now. I didn’t say it enough, I never thanked you enough, but at least you knew. Thank God, at least you knew. Starsky stood up and moved blindly to the bedroom to get some Kleenex, then made it back to the couch, wiping at his eyes until he could see enough to begin again. It felt almost like Hutch was with him at that moment….he could almost hear his partner’s soft voice saying the words he was reading.
I know you don’t like soapy scenes, and I really want these words to be about the future, not the past. I very much want you to have a good future, partner. I know from experience you may be feeling really hopeless and alone right now, but that will get better, and I couldn’t stand it if I caused you so much pain that you couldn’t move on, even by dying. So hang in there, please, for me. I want your life to be filled with good things and joy, and I know it can be if you’re open to it. There’s lots of people who care about you very much; Captain Dobey and Edith, Huggy, your mom and aunts and uncles, even Minnie. Please don’t shut them out, buddy. They’re there for you if you need them. They were sure there for me.
Once you’re feeling better, you’ll be making some decisions about what to do, and I wanted to maybe help with that, which is the real reason I’m writing this. You’re the best cop I’ve ever known, Starsk, and I’m not prejudiced.
Hutch had actually drawn a little smiley face to end that sentence, and Starsky chuckled through his tears. They had always somehow managed to bring light to each other even in the darkest places. Oh, Hutch, I miss you so much.
Maybe what happened to me is making you think about quitting. I can understand that, but I also know how hard you worked to come back after you were hurt; that being a cop is in your blood, so don’t make a fast decision about that. Take some time off, if you have to, but don’t throw away your career too quickly because you’re hurting so badly right now.
If you decide to stay a cop, be careful, okay? I hate to think of you out on the streets without me to watch that precious back of yours. Make sure Dobey gets you one hell of a partner. You can tell him for me that if he doesn’t, I’ll come back and haunt him. Seriously, don’t settle for anything less than the best. You deserve it.
You and I have talked a little about the future, but never really got serious about it. You have a lot to offer the Force, buddy, and being out on the street may not be the best way to do it. You know that I’ve left most of my money, such as it is, to my niece and nephew to use for a good future. I wanted to do something to give you a good future too, so a few years back I took out a small life insurance policy in your name. ($15,000) You’re free to use it any way you want, of course, but I’m hoping you’ll use it to take a little leave time and get your college degree so you can make lieutenant when you’re ready. You’d be great, and you’re so smart the classes would be a breeze so long as you weren’t trying to be a cop at the same time. Please think about that.
If you do decide to take a different road, I wish you the best at that. I just want you to be happy, and I know there’s lots of things you’d be great at. I hope the money can help you with whatever you choose as your dream.
I guess that’s about all I have to say. This letter is already a lot longer than I planned for it to be, but you always were the easiest person in the world for me to talk to…and it’s hard to say good-bye. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I love you very much. Be happy.
Always, Hutch
For a very long time Starsky just sat there, overwhelmed by his emotions, incredible grief, but also incredible joy that he had known and been loved by that man. He had the presence of mind, eventually, to put the letter carefully to one side, before succumbing to his feelings and sobbing into his hands. Once he’d cried himself out, he went to the bathroom to wash his face, then dry his hands before returning to the living room and re-reading the letter. He hadn’t given much thought to the future until now…living in the present had been all he could handle, but he knew Hutch was right. It would be no tribute to their friendship if he gave up on life. I’ll try my best, he vowed, as he tenderly folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Walking to his desk, he pulled out the little strongbox he had there for his most important papers, opened it, and placed the precious communication inside. Then he walked over to the phone and called his Captain.
“Starsky, is everything okay?” Dobey asked worriedly after Starsky identified himself.
“Everything’s fine, Captain,” he replied in a voice he hoped sounded normal. “Actually this is a social call. Last week Edith called and invited me to come over for dinner one night, and I sort of put her off, but I’ve thought about it and I think I’d really like to come spend an evening with you and the kids, if that would be okay.”
“That would be great, Dave.” Dobey responded with enthusiasm, surprised and delighted at the sudden turnaround. “You’re off Sunday, aren’t you? How about joining us after we get back from church for Sunday dinner?”
“That would be terrific.”
“Great, then. I’ll talk to Edith and have her call you with the exact time.”
“I’ll look forward to it. Night, Captain, and thanks.”
“Night, Dave. See you at work tomorrow.”
After he hung up, Starsky walked over to the window and looked out. It was a nice night, clear and cool as only a winter night in LA could be. I’ll try.
***
Hutch shivered and pulled his sweater tighter around himself as he stared bleakly at the nearly empty packet of white powder on the bed in front of him. He couldn’t remember what it felt like to be warm. Winters in Chicago were just as bad as they’d been in Minnesota, and his landlord was stingy with the heat.
He shivered again, knowing that the cold was far from his worst problem at the moment.
Over the past few months he’d managed to survive the hell he now called his life, mostly thanks to the stroke of luck that had put him in contact with Joe Grafton. He wondered if Ben Forest would be surprised at that. It gave him some comfort to think that he would. They’d probably expected him to go crazy, or die, once the money they’d left him ran out. He’d come close enough. In fact, he’d strongly considered not bothering at that time; killing himself had appeared to be a pleasant option. But he’d known that if he killed himself, he’d be identified, and that Starsky would find out. Not wanting his friend to have to live with that, he’d decided to make himself a life instead. Inspired by other musicians he’d seen, he’d gotten the idea to use the last couple of hundred dollars to buy a guitar, and had then spent the next few weeks playing on street corners to keep himself in junk. That plan probably wouldn’t have worked for long…his habit cost more than he could usually take in, but one day a passer-by had stopped to introduce himself, claiming to own an up-and-coming tavern a few blocks down, and inviting him to come by in the evening and play for tips. Somewhat to Hutch’s surprise when he checked it out later, he’d discovered that Joe was telling the truth. The additional income at night had helped a lot, and, as word of his playing spread and the crowds grew, Joe had offered him a job as bartender, a job that paid well enough that he’d been able to cut down on his street performing. Since then his life had continued in that pattern, until now.
Bad weather had kept the crowds down at the tavern. Weekends usually provided him with enough money to last for the week, but last weekend a big snowstorm had kept the bar almost empty both nights. The streets had been empty also, robbing him of his usual fall-back plan, playing there, as well. Now it was Wednesday, two more days to go until he could recoup on Friday night…and he was out of money, almost out of junk, and he had nowhere to turn to for help. In a couple of past emergencies, Joe had loaned him money, but Joe was in Florida for a few days, so Hutch was stuck, and terrified. He’d managed over the past months to keep his habit from increasing, trying to drag out the time between shots for as long as could stand it, but the most he’d managed was half a day, despite his best intentions; memories of cold turkey withdrawal preventing him from pushing it too far. He could never make it for two days, never.
He’d known for days this was coming, and had wracked his brain for what to do. He’d considered stealing money from the cash register, but feared losing his job if he were caught. Which left only one other solution…steal money from somewhere else. The thought of it made him sick to his stomach. Low as he’d sunk until now, he’d never had to steal to feed his habit. Wouldn’t his brother cops get a kick out of that if they knew…and Starsky…how ashamed would he be? A man he’d considered his friend, a cop, so hooked, so weak, that he had to commit robbery to get what he needed? It disgusted him to think about it, he disgusted himself. But he had no choice. If he didn’t plan what to do now, and do it while he was still competent, he’d turn into a raving, desperate lunatic, and God knew what he might do then. He had to act now, before the situation got out of control and he ended up hurting someone. He still was tormented by his memories of almost hitting Starsky the time he’d gone through withdrawal at Huggy’s, and he was certain that anyone else blocking that door would not have escaped so lightly.
With a sigh, Hutch threw off the cover and climbed out of bed. He dressed himself quickly in his one decent suit…singing at the tavern had earned him a few jobs singing at weddings, and he’d had to invest in a presentable outfit to take advantage of them. Once fully clothed, he got his coat and left for his afternoon’s ‘work.’ Bitterly, he remembered joking with Starsky on several occasions about becoming bank robbers if they ever lost their jobs. The jokes had seemed funny at the time, but, as he walked in the direction of Water Tower Place hugging his coat tightly about him to protect against the icy wind, they weren’t very funny anymore.
Water Tower Place was a swank indoor shopping mall, frequented by wealthy area residents, and tourists. Hutch had chosen that spot to find his victims, since robbing a rich person was a little less horrifying to his conscience. Once inside he strolled around a bit, warming up. Not so long ago he would have felt right at home perusing the fashions and jewelry, but the shops and happy crowds felt like a foreign culture to him now. Still, dressed up and cleaned up, he looked enough like he belonged so that no one noticed him as he mingled with everyone else. It was, in fact, ridiculously easy to do what he’d come to do. His familiarity with security systems allowed him to pick spots with no cameras, and within two hours, he’d collected three wallets, two from women, and one from a man. When he’d finished, he retreated to the security of a restroom stall to investigate his take. As sweat dripped down his back and made damp spots under his arms, he opened the wallets and almost cried with relief when he found that he’d gathered close to four hundred dollars…enough to get him through till Friday came. He stuffed the money into his pocket, just before his gut twisted and he threw up into the toilet. He had to use toilet paper to wipe his dripping face off before exiting the stall on trembling legs. He forced himself to walk calmly through Marshall Field’s, tossing the wallets into a trashcan in the foyer before escaping into the after-work throngs outside. Even the winter air couldn’t cool the shame burning red on his cheeks, and he felt more like a rat returning to the sewer than a human being returning home as he went back to his apartment to call his dealer.
Part Two
As he had the year before, Starsky watched for the second hand to reach the twelve before lighting a candle and pouring two glasses of Chablis. August 28, 1981, Hutch’s birthday, and he’d been missing for over a year. Starsky lifted one glass to make his toast. “Happy birthday, buddy,” he said softly. “I still miss you every minute. And I’m still gonna find out what happened and make them pay, no matter how long it takes. I promise.” He clinked his glass against the other one on the table, then took a sip of the golden liquid. The promise, as sincerely as it was meant, sounded hollow. More than a year of pursuing every possible clue had led to nothing. He had no more idea now of what had happened to his partner than he had a year ago.
Starsky held the glass up to the light, watching the wine sparkle. More than a year…”Time heals.” How many times had he used those words referring to other victims’ families and friends? He’d counted on the cliche to be true for himself, but now he didn’t really believe it anymore. In his case, he’d found that time had given him a chance to learn to live with his pain, but that it hadn’t healed anything. The raw, aching wound inside him had grown no less agonizing over the months. Time had allowed him to learn how to focus on other things much of the time, his job mostly, to keep his mind off the pain that was always there, but on occasions, like tonight, when he let himself feel it, it was as unbearable as ever.
“Life goes on.” That cliché was true. If you made the choice to go along with it, there was no way to stop it. Life went on, but it wasn’t the same anymore. He was trying, had been since he’d gotten Hutch’s letter. He saw people, the Dobeys, guys from work, Huggy, even ladies once in a while. There were some good times, there was some pleasure still to be found in bowling a good game, or an evening of sex with a lovely partner, or in playing with Dobey’s kids, but everything seemed very even. Life with Hutch around had been exhilarating, full of joyous highs, and frightening lows. Now those peaks and valleys had flattened out…nothing seemed quite that good anymore, and, now that the worst had happened, nothing else seemed that bad either. You’re becoming quite the philosopher, he told himself with a little chuckle. Hutch would be impressed. He wondered if he would ever stop thinking about everything he did in terms of Hutch. He doubted it.
He sipped his wine and tried to picture Hutch sitting across from him, sharing this moment as they had so many others. Tears filled his eyes and he let them come. He didn’t cry much anymore, but it was still a relief when he gave himself the chance to let some of the pain come out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to the vision in his mind. “I’m sorry I let you down.” Hutch would forgive him, he knew, for not somehow saving him, had already done so in his letter, but it was not as easy to forgive himself. With an effort, he forced his thoughts in a more positive direction. Hutch had wanted him to be happy. “I got an A in my Geology class,” he said, sniffling and feeling like a high school kid. “You were right about my going to school.” He took a moment to think about what else he ought to report on. “Your parents are doing fine, and your sister and her family, too. And my mom’s okay. Everybody misses you.” He finished the last of the wine and wiped his eyes with a Kleenex. “I love you, Hutch.” He savored Hutch’s image in his mind for another moment, then blew out the candle with a sigh. “Night.” As he headed for the bedroom, the moonlight streaming in through the window softly illuminated the full glass he’d left standing on the table, alone.
***
Hutch was putting away the last of the beer mugs when Joe walked over to the bar. “How’s it going, Keith?” he asked. Even after all these months, his new name still felt strange.
“Okay.” This time of night was always hard. Hutch tried not to use at the bar unless he was desperate, and was always more than anxious to go home after work. Of course, Joe knew that.
“I’m not gonna keep you,” Joe said, as if reading his mind, which isn’t so hard, Hutch thought bitterly, looking down at his shaking hands. “But I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Huh?”
“Well, it’s after midnight, which makes it August 28. Isn’t that your birthday?”
“Yeah, yeah, I guess it is.” For the life of him, Hutch couldn’t remember telling Joe the date of his birthday, but obviously he had. “Thanks for remembering.” He hadn’t thought about it himself at all. Every day in his life was just as miserable as all the others.
“I wanted to give you this.” Joe held out an envelope. “It’s a little birthday bonus. I really appreciate what you’ve done for my business, Keith. Use it to have some fun.”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot. I enjoy the singing.” Actually, the singing was the only thing in his life that kept him going, made him feel like a person. Without that….
“Take off, huh?” Joe picked up the rag on the bar. “I’ll finish up.”
“Thanks again.” Hutch wasn’t going to argue with that, craving the relief that awaited him at his apartment.
“See you tomorrow night,” Joe called after him. “Have a great day!”
“Have a great day!” What a joke, thought Hutch. There was no such thing. He paused just outside the door under a light to open the envelope Joe had given him, finding a hundred dollar bill inside. Now that was nice. He could add it to the emergency fund he now kept for snowy days. Maybe having someone remember his birthday wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
The flashback hit him without warning…
“You remembered my birthday? I can’t believe it!” Hutch was sincerely surprised and touched as he stared open-mouthed at his unexpected visitor. His partner still looked thin and pale more than three months after the shooting, and his sportcoat hung on him, but he appeared very pleased with himself as he held out a beribboned package.
“Course I remembered. I didn’t get shot in the brain, dummy.”
Hutch managed to keep the smile on his face in spite of the remark. Although Starsky was quite capable of making jokes about what had happened, he was still having a lot of trouble with the dark humor. “Sit, sit,” he urged Starsky as he reached for the box. As Starsky sank down into the chair next to his, Hutch saw that everyone in the room was watching them with big smiles on their faces. It was only Starsky’s second visit to the squadroom since the shooting, so it was still quite a sensation for him to be there, since everyone knew just how badly hurt he’d been.
Hutch was a little apprehensive, opening the present in front of so many people. He said a quick prayer that Starsky wouldn’t have given him anything too embarrassing in public, then opened the small box.
“Aw, Starsk, it’s beautiful,” he said, lifting out a new black wallet. It really was a nice one, and he rubbed his fingers appreciatively across the surface, delighting in the soft feel of the fine leather. He looked up at Starsky, smiling brightly. “Man, I really needed this.” In fact, he’d needed one for months; his old one was falling apart. He’d begun looking for one before the shooting, but since then it had hardly been high on the priority list. “Thanks, buddy.”
“You’re welcome.” Starsky beamed, seeing that Hutch really liked it. “Now, pack it up and let’s go to your place so you can change. I’ve got reservations for 7:30 at Chez Pierre.”
“Chez Pierre? Really? Starsk, I don’t know what to say.” It was his favorite fine dining spot.
“Say good-bye to all these nice folks so we won’t be late…”
Hutch started back to awareness, then realized that he’d dropped the envelope with his birthday bonus and stooped to pick it up, barely able to find it through the tears brimming in his eyes. He pulled out his cheap vinyl wallet and clumsily inserted the money, then started toward home. He had no idea what had become of the beautiful wallet from Starsky. It was gone, stolen from him by Forest’s men, the way they had stolen everything else, his life, his dignity, his partner, all gone. He was having a hard time seeing where he was going and stopped to lean against a building, wiping at his eyes. Oh, God, Starsky, I miss you. He wondered if his partner still remembered his birthday after all this time.
That birthday two years ago had been one of the happiest of his life. More tears welled up as he remembered the joy of sharing the day with his miraculously recovered friend, unable to even think of anything more to wish for as he blew out the candles they’d lit for him at the restaurant.
He knew what to wish for this year, he thought bitterly, as he wiped away the tears. And it was waiting for him in a little packet only a few blocks away. Maybe he’d give himself a little something extra for his birthday. Maybe then he wouldn’t remember anymore… He pushed himself away from the wall and began to walk quickly toward his apartment, to celebrate alone with the only friend he had.
***
Alec smiled contentedly as he filled out the report. He was tired, and he had no more love of paperwork than his partner, but he was so satisfied with the way the case had gone that he was feeling reasonably tolerant of the task this time. Over four million dollars worth of heroin had been confiscated during the bust, icing on the cake of an operation that had nailed one of the top local drug dealers, a man believed to be responsible for several murders, including that of an undercover cop. Dobey was pleased, the Commissioner was pleased, the press was pleased, and, best of all, Dave was pleased. They’d been working together for almost a year now, and things were finally feeling very right to the young detective. He’d been the inside man under cover this time, and had found it as exhilarating as it was frightening. During the whole operation, Dave had monitored him carefully and constantly, even when he was supposed to have been off shift. Alec doubted he would ever forget the mixture of pride and relief on his partner’s face when they finally had a chance to talk once things were over. He’d still been coming down from his adrenaline high, but he didn’t think he was mistaken when he saw more than just professional concern in those dark blue eyes. Things had gotten a bit dicey at the end, but Alec had never doubted for a minute that Dave would be there for him.
“You okay, Alec?” Dave had asked, eyeing him critically amid the hustle and bustle of officers removing suspects and evidence.
“Just fine, thanks to you,” he’d replied.
“In the future, don’t scare me like that, huh?” There had been times at the beginning of their partnership that Alec had had doubts that Dave would ever let himself care much, but the affection and worry in his voice and his eyes told the younger man that he was beginning to find his way into his partner’s heart.
“I’ll try,” he’d responded in as light a tone as he could, feeling his throat tighten a bit as he realized he’d finally achieved what he’d worked for so long.
“You did a hell of a job, partner,” Dave had said then, squeezing his shoulder, and Alec’s heart had swelled with pride and pleasure.
The ringing of the phone startled Alec out of his pleasant reverie. “Saunders.”
“Alec, my man, it’s Huggy. Is Starsky there?”
“He’s down cataloguing some evidence. Can I help?”
“From what I hear, cataloguing that much evidence may take a while. You two managed to put quite a hole in the heroin trade, mon ami.”
“We try.”
“Yeah, well you have my congratulations, young centurion. Listen, when Starsky gets back, have him come down to see me at The Pits, okay? I need to talk to him about somethin’.”
“Sure, we can probably get there within an hour or two, if that’s okay.”
“Well, uh, an hour or two’s okay, but this is somethin’ that’s kinda between your partner and me, so you can just go on home and spend some time with your beautiful bride and daughter, ‘stead of hangin’ out here with the lowlifes.”
“Oh, sure.” Alec was fairly shocked by that direction. There were times before when Dave had gone alone to see Huggy if Alec was busy elsewhere, but he couldn’t ever remember being told not to come, even during the first few weeks they’d worked together.
“Don’t take offense now, Alec. This ain’t police business.”
“No problem, Hug. I’ll give him your message.” Alec shook his head at his own paranoia. Dave had known Huggy for over ten years before he’d ever met Alec. It was pretty ridiculous to feel left out because Huggy had some personal business to discuss with Dave.
“Thanks, my good man. Congratulations again on that bust. I gotta feelin’ there’s gonna be a commendation in this for two of my favorite cops.”
“That’d be nice, but I’m not gonna count my chickens. See ya, Hug.”
It was, in fact, an hour before Starsky returned to the squadroom, looking tired, but satisfied. “All set, Alec,” he announced. “There’s sure gonna be some hurtin’ junkies in this town for the next few weeks.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Hey, Huggy called. Wants to see you tonight.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m hungry anyway. Wanna head out?”
“Actually, I’m heading home. Huggy said it was personal business for you. I was pretty clearly not wanted.”
“Really?” Alec was oddly gratified to see that Dave seemed as surprised by the strange set-up as he had been.
Alec shrugged. “Say ‘hi’ to him. I’ll just finish up this report, then Tracey and Jennifer await.”
“Sounds like a better deal to me,” Starsky said, as he headed out the door. “See ya tomorrow.”
***
Starsky drove quickly to The Pits, spurred on equally by his growling stomach and the strange summons from Huggy. When he arrived, the slim black man, dressed in a turquoise jacket over orange pants, was working the bar, but when Starsky started to perch on a stool, Huggy waved him toward the back booth, the spot where they generally discussed their more serious business. Starsky sensed an aura of tension about his friend that did not bode well for whatever message he had to deliver.
The detective had barely sat down when Huggy approached, carrying two beers and wearing an odd expression on his face that Starsky couldn’t interpret. Starsky also noticed that the barkeep had a brown envelope tucked under his left arm.
“Congratulations on your latest bust, hero,” Huggy stated, as he handed Starsky his beer. The lightness in his tone was obviously forced, and alarm bells clanged loud and clear in Starsky’s mind.
“You didn’t call me down here to tell me that, didja?” Starsky was tired and in no mood to pussyfoot around about this.
“No.” Huggy, usually the most garrulous of souls, seemed remarkably reluctant to talk, alarming Starsky even more. He quickly made a list in his mind of possible reasons Huggy could be this upset: a crooked cop maybe, a threat to Dobey, a personal problem from his past…
***
“I, uh, um, I have some information for you,” the black man stammered at last. “It’s, well, it’s about Hutch.”
Starsky’s hard-won peace of mind was instantly shattered. “What?!” The hand holding his beer began to tremble, and he set the glass down on the table with a sharp tap.
“Starsky…” Huggy reached out to lay his hand on the detective’s forearm.
Starsky took a couple of deep breaths, then looked up with a shaky smile. “S’okay, Hug. It’s just a shock is all, after all this time. I’d pretty much given up on finding out…” Starsky’s voice trailed off and he lowered his head as he succumbed to the horrible memories of those first few weeks after Hutch’s disappearance. He’d desperately wanted to know what had happened at the time, even after he’d begun to accept that Hutch was probably dead, feeling a need to punish whoever had done it. When months had passed without a word, he’d tried to come to grips with not knowing, had learned to live with that. Sitting there, he suddenly realized that the pain and anger was still there, just buried deep. His eyes glittered fiercely as he looked back up at Huggy again.
“Tell me.” His voice was soft, intense. “Whoever killed Hutch is gonna pay, Huggy.”
Huggy shook his head a little, then took a deep breath himself. “You don’t understand, Starsky. He’s not dead.”
Starsky blinked, thinking he’d misunderstood. “Who, the killer?”
“Hutch is alive, Starsky.”
“Th-that’s crazy, Hug. What are you say…what are you talkin’ about?” As much as Starsky had longed to hear those words, he could not easily accept them as reality.
Huggy nodded solemnly, understanding Starsky’s need to protect himself. “I didn’t believe it at first myself. You ‘member a friend of mine, Rafe Cleveland? You met him a few times when we was hangin’ out together a lot a few years back.”
“Yeah, I remember him. What’s he got to do with Hutch?” Starsky was feeling increasingly uncomfortable, shifting around in his seat, and drumming his fingers nervously on the table.
“He was visitin’ his cousin in Chicago last week. His cousin took him to a neighborhood bar, kind of a seedy-lookin’ place, where he’d heard they had a bartender who was a pretty good singer, name of Keith David. Rafe called me the next day…he remembered me askin’ about Hutch back when he disappeared…”
As Huggy continued his story, Starsky was finding it harder and harder to breathe.
“Starsky?”
“Just go on, Huggy,” the detective managed, in a strained voice.
“Okay, man, just take it easy.” When Starsky nodded slightly, Huggy continued. “He said it was the voice he recognized first. He’d heard Hutch sing at my place at a party one time, ‘member? He knew the guy sounded familiar, like Hutch. So he took a good luck, and it was Hutch. The hair was different, he said, but…”
“It’s a mistake, Huggy. Someone who looks like Hutch, maybe…”
“That’s what I thought, too. So I asked Rafe if he could get some pictures. I mean I didn’t want to say anything to you unless… Here, take a look.” He held out the envelope, which Starsky could now see had been mailed Special Delivery. Starsky had to force himself to reach out and take it, not sure at that moment if he wanted the pictures to be of Hutch or not, not sure how to react to the sudden surge of hope… He removed the photos with quivering fingers and placed them on the table in front of him for a good look. One picture showed a man sitting on a stool, singing and playing the guitar. The other was a close-up view of the same man tending bar. They were good photos, especially the close-up, clear, showing a lot of detail. The subject had straight brown hair, drawn back in a pony tail. The subject was, without a doubt, Ken Hutchinson.
“Hutch!” The room spun crazily for a moment and Starsky swayed in his seat, all color drained from his face.
“Starsky!” Alarmed, Huggy grabbed his friend by both arms and held on until his breathing steadied, and he straightened and opened dazed eyes. “You okay? Sit back now. I’m gonna get some water.” Huggy made sure Starsky was securely propped against the back of the booth, then left him alone for just a moment. When he returned, he found that Starsky hadn’t moved. The blue eyes were wide open, and wet with tears. “Starsky?”
“It is him. It is him.” Starsky took the offered glass in two shaking hands and drank it, then sat up with a sigh, returning to the photos. He shook his head and blinked tears from his eyes as he tried to deal with the myriad of strong emotions swirling inside him. He’d long ago given up hope of finding Hutch alive. The joy he would have expected to feel at the seemingly miraculous news was there, but hidden beneath anger and, mostly, bewilderment. His eyes focused on the close-up of Hutch at the bar, one hand pouring Scotch into a glass; just a little behind the glass, there was a telephone.
Early in the search for his partner, Starsky had been aware that there were some, mostly from IA, who had seriously suggested that Hutch, who was known to be a bit unstable, had simply taken off, fed up with his job, overwhelmed by the stress of what had happened to Starsky. Starsky had denied it repeatedly and vehemently. He knew Hutch better than that, right? He would have sensed that level of unhappiness. Besides, Hutch would never have done something to hurt Starsky like that, right? Would never have left without a word… Doubts flooded him as he stared at that phone. Was it possible he could have been so wrong, so blind? Had his own struggle to recover from his injuries left him so self-focused that he could have missed something so big and important going on with his partner?
“I can’t believe this, Huggy,” he whispered finally. “It’s crazy.”
“Seems to be.” Huggy sighed. He had more news to deliver, and hated to cause his friend yet more pain. “There’s another piece to the puzzle,” he said, finally.
“Huh?”
Huggy hesitated, looking into the anguished blue eyes, biting his lip.
“Huggy?”
“Starsky, according to Rafe, Hutch is, uh, he’s a junkie.”
“No!”
“Rafe says it’s pretty common knowledge. He checked it out…found out that the bartender kinda looks after him, since he brings in so much business, makes sure he doesn’t, you know, run out of what he needs.”
This was really too much for Starsky to handle. He dropped his head wearily onto his arms. Huggy gave him a minute, before tapping him on the shoulder. “Starsky?”
The dark head lifted. Huggy was pleased, but surprised, to see a look of determination on the haggard face. “There’s no way,” Starsky said quietly, firmly, “there is absolutely no way Hutch was using. We were practically living together for Chissakes. I’da known.”
“I ain’t arguin’ with ya, friend. You’da known, I’da known.”
“What the hell is goin’ on, Huggy?”
Huggy was trying to think of an answer to that when Starsky gasped. “Oh, my…, Forest!”
“What?”
“Forest, Huggy, Forest. I knew there was something. I… That has to be it, Huggy. Hutch disappears for no apparent reason, Hutch turns up a junkie. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”
“I know it seems to make some sense, brother, but you checked that out every way you could at the time. You told me there was nothin’.”
“There was somethin’, Huggy. I just missed it, dammit! How could I blow it like that!” Starsky pounded his fist on the table. “All these months he’s been gone, and I could have…”
“Starsky, stop it! You’re beatin’ yourself up about somethin’ you don’t even know for sure happened. And let’s face it, it makes some sense to suspect Forest, but you gotta accept the fact that there ain’t no one holdin’ a gun to Hutch’s head in that picture. We, uh, may not know the whole story here.”
Starsky bit his lip, doubts assailing him once again. It had to be Forest, it had to be, but if it was, why hadn’t Hutch called him when he’d escaped? And what the hell was he doing in Chicago?
“This whole thing just doesn’t make sense. He was happy, Hug, I’d swear it. I mean, I was a bit of a pain once in a while, but mostly…”
“You know, Starsky, there’s only one way you’re gonna ever know the truth. And talkin’ to me ain’t it.”
There was silence for a minute, as Starsky contemplated the implications of that statement. A thousand thoughts crowded his mind, a hundred possibilities, none of which made sense at the moment. “Ya know, Hug,” Starsky’s voice was hoarse with tension, and fear, “right now I’m not really sure I want to know.”
“Starsky.” Huggy reached out and grasped the other man’s upper arm, holding on until Starsky met his eyes again. “You need to have a little faith in yourself, and our blond brother as well. Something happened to cause this. Forest maybe, maybe something else. You don’t believe Hutch woulda just left, and neither do I. I don’t know the explanation for this, but there is one, and I know that in the end, it will all make sense. Give it a chance, brother. You could never live with not knowing. You know that as well as I do. Hutch needs you, even if he thinks he doesn’t. You know that, too.”
Starsky nodded slowly, wiping a hand across moist eyes. “Thanks, Hug, I needed that.” He started to rise.
“Hey, hey now.” The worried Huggy stood up to block his way. “Where ya goin’? You’ve had kind of a shock, ya know. Why don’t you have a beer and let this sink in before you go off somewheres?”
“I’m okay, Hug, really, but I need to go someplace quiet and think this through.” He managed a smile genuine enough to reassure his friend, and Huggy moved out of the way, giving Starsky a final pat on the shoulder.
“Lemme know what’s goin’ down before it goes down, huh?”
“I will, Huggy, I will.”
***
“You have to have faith in yourself.” Those words of Huggy’s came back to Starsky again and again as the long night passed. He’d gone straight home from The Pits to try to sort out what had happened, what he should do about it, and what he was feeling. After hours of thinking and pacing, he found himself sitting at his dining table, looking at a yellow pad on which he’d listed three words that seemed to encompass all the possibilities that made any sense at all. The first line on the pad read, “Forest.”
“Don’t ignore the obvious.” More words of advice, this time from an instructor at the Academy. Forest being involved still felt right to him. He clearly remembered his visit with the crime boss in prison, remembered the feeling he’d had that Forest knew something. That feeling had been so strong that he’d done a lot of follow up work, only to find nothing, but that didn’t mean there was nothing to find, only that it had been too well hidden.
“Don’t ignore the obvious.” Hutch disappears for no apparent reason, Hutch turns up hooked on heroin. It had been Forest the first time; odds were it was Forest again. The theory would have been perfect, except for the fact that Hutch was obviously no longer a prisoner. The first time he’d been kidnapped by Forest, he’d escaped, Starsky still didn’t know how, as Hutch had had no memory of it, even once he’d recovered. Starsky had found him right away that time…God only knew what would have happened to Hutch if the police hadn’t spotted him. Had he escaped again, but this time with no rescue nearby? Even if he hadn’t been able to get help right away, he was clearly able to now. That was the part that didn’t fit, or did it? Starsky vividly recalled Hutch’s shame and remorse about Jeannie…that he’d revealed her whereabouts to Forest under duress. No amount of talking by Starsky had been able to convince his guilt-prone partner that he’d done nothing wrong by succumbing to that torture. Hutch had still felt that he’d been weak and wrong to do what no one would not have done under the circumstances. Was it possible that something like that had happened this time…that Hutch was too ashamed to call his partner for help? Starsky didn’t like to believe it was possible, wanting to think that Hutch would have trusted him enough to call him no matter what, but he wasn’t totally sure that was true. Maybe…
Starsky took a sip of coffee and moved on to the next possibility, “Amnesia.” The word brought back ugly memories of a cruel joke Hutch had played on him once, a particularly low point in the history of their partnership. Still people did on occasion really get amnesia. Maybe Hutch’s attack had been a simple robbery, or a beating, that had left him with a head injury. Or maybe he had been intentionally kidnapped, then injured. Or maybe he’d been injured trying to escape from whoever had him, Forest or someone else. It sounded more like a soap opera than real life, but Starsky had had plenty of experiences which had convinced him that life could be stranger than fiction. Maybe Hutch had awakened in a strange place, remembering only his previous experience with heroin, convincing him he was a junkie. Maybe…
Starsky shook his head and read the final word on the page, “Choice.” He really didn’t want to believe this possibility, but he had to admit that circumstances made it seem the most likely one. Despite his confident words to Huggy, and the barkeep’s reassurances to him, Starsky still had doubts. The guilt he’d felt about his final conversation with Hutch, suppressed after the first few weeks, returned to haunt him. He still did not, could not, believe that Hutch had been using heroin before his disappearance. They’d been together too much. It truly would not have been possible. He was a lot less sure that Hutch hadn’t been hiding some unhappiness from him, something that the blond hadn’t wanted to reveal for fear of causing Starsky some distress perhaps, or distracting him from progress toward recovery. Starsky knew that he had not been the only victim of Gunther’s hitmen. Hutch had suffered psychologically as much as Starsky had suffered physically. He’d thought they’d talked that out, but… Had Hutch finally been so upset by whatever it was that a small incident, such as Starsky ordering him around, had triggered some sort of massive reaction, resulting in Hutch taking off? Was that totally outside the realm of possibility? Maybe…
Starsky got to his feet, dumped his cold coffee in the sink, and headed for the bedroom to try to get a little sleep. He needed to rest, if possible, for he knew what he had to do, and knew it wouldn’t be easy, no matter what the answer to the paradox was. Huggy had been right. There was a sure way to know what had happened, and the answers would not be found in Los Angeles. As he stripped off his clothes, Starsky paused to look at the photo on his dresser…he’d had it for years…he and Hutch, much younger, carefree, standing on top of the Torino. Looking at the picture, a little of the eager optimism of those early days of their partnership crept through his dark thoughts. He had been wrestling with the mysteries of the situation so relentlessly that he’d missed thinking about something very important. Whatever was going on, Hutch was alive. Something was wrong, seriously wrong, but he had to believe that if Hutch was alive, with Starsky’s help, they could fix it. In ten years they’d never encountered anything they couldn’t handle together, and, if he had anything to say about it, this situation would not be any different. I’m gonna be there soon, buddy, he promised the image of his friend, and me and thee will work it out just like always. For the first time in over a year, Starsky felt a tingle of warmth inside the aching void that had filled him for so long, the warmth of hope.
***
Alec looked up in surprise as his partner came into the room, not through the outside door as expected, but through the door from Dobey’s office. One glance at Dave told him that something was wrong. His partner was pale and tense-looking, and had clearly not slept much.
“Dave, what’s the matter?”
Starsky did not bother to deny that there was a problem. “Something’s come up, Alec, something personal. I’m gonna need to take some time off. I’m not sure how much.”
“Dave, what is it? Something with your family? If I can help…”
“It’s not my family, they’re fine.” Yeah, and if Hutch isn’t your family, who is? Starsky felt like he was lying. “Really, it’s nothing for you to worry about. But I’m gonna leave town for a while, so you won’t be able to call.”
Alec opened his mouth to ask again, but shut it without a word. Clearly, Dave was not going to reveal this secret problem.
Seeing how upset he was, Starsky made the effort to give him a little smile and a pat on the shoulder. “I appreciate your concern, Alec, I really do, but I just can’t give you anymore information right now. It’s got nothin’ to do with you, I promise.”
Alec shrugged. “I’d just like to help.”
Starsky nodded. “I know you would. Look, I gotta go now. You watch yourself while I’m gone, you hear me?”
Alec was confused by all that was happening, but the warm concern in Starsky’s voice made him feel a little better. “Sure, you take care, too.”
Starsky acknowledged the wish with a nod, then left. Captain Dobey had come up to stand in the doorway and Alec turned to him, hoping for some information. “Captain?”
Dobey just shook his head. “Sorry, Saunders. Like he said, it’s personal business.”
“But he’s okay?”
Dobey’s mouth twisted into a little frown at that, not reassuring Alec one bit. “I hope so.”
***
Joe’s Place wasn’t too full when Starsky entered and made his way to a table in a back corner. He could see the bar from there, but couldn’t really be seen. The TGIF crowd had already left for the most part, and the late evening and date crowd had not yet started to arrive. It would be crowded that night, they’d assured him the day before, on his first visit.
He’d gone to the tavern on a Thursday, hoping to catch up with Hutch on a slower night, but his quarry had not shown up to work. In a way it had worked out better. It had not seemed to arouse anyone’s suspicions when he’d asked about “Keith David.” Apparently Hutch’s growing local fame as a singer made questions about him fairly common. Once Starsky had established a bit of a rapport with the barmaid serving him, she’d been only too glad to fill him in. “He doesn’t always show up. Of course, you know how that is,” she’d said, with a knowing look. “But he’ll be here tomorrow, if you can come back. He’s always here on weekend nights, ‘cause that’s when he makes the most money. But come early if you want a good seat. We’ve been getting some really big crowds on Fridays.”
Nearby regulars, tongues loosened by booze, had supplied other details of his partner’s new life. He’d first shown up about eight months before, just singing for tips. Joe, the bar’s owner, had taken a liking to him, as well as to the business he thought he could bring in, but Joe had soon discovered that singing for tips did not provide enough income for his new friend/attraction, and had offered him a job tending bar. Since then, “Keith David” had been a “pretty dependable performer, considering, well, you know.” There had been times, during that information gathering, that Starsky had nearly had to excuse himself, barely able to control the nausea that churned his gut at the thought of his Hutch living like that, but he had contented himself with the thought that Hutch was, at least, living, and that maybe they could somehow work all this out. He’d done some homework, made some tentative plans….
“Hi there! You did come back!” It was Ellen, the same barmaid who’d served him the previous night.
“Well, I still wanna hear this guy sing,” Starsky responded.
“Oh, you’re gonna love him,” Ellen enthused.
Already do, Starsky thought, a pain lancing through his chest. “What time d’ya think he’ll show up?”
“He starts work around seven.” It was close to that hour already. “He doesn’t start singing till the crowd gets bigger though, usually around nine. He’ll sing fifteen or twenty minutes every hour after that, till two maybe. Hey, you’re not a talent agent or anything, are you?”
Starsky laughed. “Hardly. Why do you ask?”
“Joe’s worried someone’s gonna come in here and “discover” Keith one of these days. He doesn’t want to lose him like that…Keith’s doubled or tripled Joe’s business on weekends since he started here. Keith says he doesn’t want to become famous, but I’m not sure I believe that.”
I do. “So, schweetheart, you gonna bring me my beer?” Starsky was becoming too nervous to be able to focus on making small talk with Ellen, and preferred to fade into the background anyway, until he was ready to deal with a meeting with Hutch.
“Right away, Humphrey.”
***
Starsky didn’t even see Hutch come in. One minute he was focused on his beer, swirling it in his glass as he tried, but failed, to imagine how his meeting with his friend would go, and the next minute he was stunned when he glanced up to see his partner behind the bar. He recognized Hutch immediately, despite his changed looks, and found it hard to breathe for a moment. He’s alive! Hutch really is alive! Starsky wasn’t sure he’d actually believed it until that moment, despite the pictures. Now, convinced, it took every ounce of will power he possessed not to run over, grab hold of his friend, and never let go. He resisted the urge, however, sticking with his initial plan, which was to spend the evening observing, then confront Hutch at closing time, when there was no one else around. Acting impulsively, and in public, could ruin forever what little chance he had of working this out with his partner, and he was not about to take that risk. He’d waited over a year, he could wait a few more hours. Starsky drew in a breath, then forced himself to take a sip of his beer, sit back, and watch.
***
As the evening progressed, Starsky found himself feeling more and more like he was in some sort of Twilight Zone parallel universe. It was the strangest feeling, sitting so near and yet so far from what he wanted most in the world, staking out a man who was so totally familiar to him, yet, at the same time, a total stranger. Hutch was the same, but Hutch was different. He moved about behind the bar much as he had always moved, but with the addition of frequent jerky hand motions that accompanied his chain smoking. The face was Hutch’s face, as familiar to Starsky as his own, but thinner, more angular, somehow harder. The biggest difference was the eyes. Hutch interacted pleasantly enough with the customers, even laughing and joking with them, but the smiles he gave them never touched his eyes, which glittered coldly in the lights near the bar. The experience seemed unreal, almost like observing Hutch play some sort of undercover role that his partner hadn’t been let in on. Is my Hutch still under there? Starsky wondered sadly.
At about nine o’clock, everything changed. The crowd had grown steadily as the evening progressed. By nine there was standing room only in the tavern, and Starsky could detect a sense of anticipation in the mass of humanity. Suddenly the room grew quieter, and Starsky saw his partner bend down behind the bar and come back up with a guitar in his hand. Most of the audience began to applaud and, with a smile that did touch his eyes that time, Hutch moved from behind the counter to a stool and microphone in one corner of the establishment, quickly tuned the instrument, and began to sing.
As the achingly familiar light tenor notes filled the room, Starsky thought his heart might burst from all the emotions filling it. He closed his eyes and let the sweet sounds wash over him. Hutch didn’t say much between songs, just moved from one to another, and when he did something familiar, Starsky felt transported back to a happy past he had given up hope of trying to recapture. He was startled when several drops of moisture fell to the little table in front of him. Wonderingly, he reached up and found his face soaked by the tears running silently down his cheeks. Oh, Hutch, I’ve missed you so much! How could you do this to me, to us? He tried to push the anger away, not wanting it to mar the exquisite joy of listening to Hutch sing. He remembered Huggy’s words from the other night, “Have faith in yourself, and in our blond brother, too.” There had to be an explanation.
Starsky was jolted out of his introspection when Hutch started a new song, a song that had been popular a couple of years before. He’d never much liked the song, but the words suddenly seemed to take on a new meaning. “Don’t give up on us, baby…” The words helped. I won’t give up, he promised himself, and his partner. You’re alive, so I won’t give up. Whatever’s going on, we’ll work it out together, like always.
Hutch sang for about twenty minutes, then went back to the bar, despite the protests of the crowd, and the surreal evening dragged on. Hutch performed his set every hour, and worked the bar the rest of the time, smoking constantly. Starsky was familiar with the behavior of addicts, and the signs were easy enough to spot in Hutch. As the hours passed, Hutch grew more restive and nervous, took more breaks, became more irritable. Only the music seemed to have the power to calm him, even as closing time approached and he otherwise seemed ready to jump out of his skin. Starsky hurt for his friend, who was clearly suffering, but tried to think positively. Hutch had been dealing with this alone up to now. With Starsky there, he could fight it if he wanted to. If….
At last, closing time arrived. Starsky was exhausted already, eyes stinging from the smoky air and sporadic tears, emotionally drained; yet the hard work was just about to begin. As the last customers filed out, he rose to his feet, mouth dry, heart pounding, and walked to the bar. Hutch was busy cleaning, putting things away. He had a glass in his hand, back turned, as Starsky approached. The dark-haired man took a deep breath to steady himself, then, after a final glance around to make sure no one else was within earshot, he spoke, “Hutch?”
The glass slipped out of Hutch’s hand onto the sink, where it broke into hundreds of tiny pieces. He whirled to face Starsky, and, for a brief moment, his blue eyes revealed wonder and longing, then, instantly, those emotions were replaced by an icy coldness, a look Starsky had seen a thousand times directed at suspects, even at Dobey occasionally, but never, never before at him. “Hello, Hutch.”
Hutch stared into the dark blue eyes so full of questions and was tempted to throw himself into the arms he knew would welcome him, but instead kept his back stiff and his jaw firm. He’d known this could happen, of course, though after more than a year he’d begun to hope it never would. There had always been a chance Starsky might find him. He’d rehearsed what to say and do if that happened a thousand times, but at that moment, faced with the reality of his best friend only a few feet away, it was incredibly difficult to resist abandoning those plans. But to do so would be selfish, he told himself, and maybe those arms wouldn’t be so welcoming once his partner knew the truth. So he kept his eyes shuttered and said the words he’d practiced so many times in his mind out loud, “Starsky, the best thing you can do for both of us is turn around and walk out of here right now, and pretend you never found me.”
So much for amnesia, Starsky thought dismally, shivering a little in the coldness of that icy glare. He’d been rehearsing too, however, and stuck to his plan as well. “Sorry, Hutch, can’t do that. I’m not goin’ anywhere until we talk this out. I think you owe me that.”
“Starsky, I’m warning you. I don’t want you here and it won’t do either of us any good to argue about it.”
“That’s your opinion, Hutch.” Starsky struggled to keep control over his rising anger. Hutch was as stubborn as any man he’d ever known, and pushing at him would only make things worse. “Look,” he said then, deliberately lowering his voice and keeping his stance relaxed, “I just want to talk. You’re an adult, free to do as you please. I ain’t here to arrest you or drag you kicking and screaming back to LA. But I want, no, I need to know what happened. I’ve got a hotel room not far from here. Come with me. We’ll get a little rest, then we’ll order some breakfast from room service and talk.”
Through narrowed eyes, Hutch studied his friend. Starsky did not look good. He was thin and looked exhausted, eyes red-rimmed and sad. Again, Hutch was tempted to give in, agree to anything… It’s for his own good, he reminded himself. I don’t want to ruin his life and, if I was back with him, I would. “Starsky, listen, there’s no point to talking. It won’t change anything and…”
“Are you crazy? Of course there’s a point. All this time I thought you were dead…”
“I am dead.”
“Keith, everything okay over there?” Joe called from across the room.
Both men turned as one to look at the bar owner. “Sure.” Hutch’s reply came quickly. “Just talking to an old friend. He, uh, wants to get some breakfast.”
Joe regarded Starsky skeptically for a moment, then relaxed and shrugged. “Why don’t you take off then?” he said with a smile. “I can close up tonight.”
Starsky almost chuckled. Hutch was stuck now, thanks to Joe.
Hutch opened his mouth as if to argue, then shrugged himself, looking resigned. “Thanks.” Really, Starsky thought gratefully.
As Joe turned back to what he’d been doing, Hutch caught Starsky’s eye. “Hey,” he said, eyes glinting with what seemed to be some sort of challenge, “if we’re going anywhere, we need to stop by my place first. I’m a junkie and I need a fix.” The blond lifted his chin, as if daring Starsky to argue with him, or leave.
The cold words were like a slap in the face, but Starsky maintained a neutral expression with an effort. “Whatever,” he said levelly.
Without another word, Hutch turned to pick up his guitar case, then walked toward the door, letting Starsky follow or not, as he chose.
Starsky followed, as always having to work hard to keep up with Hutch’s longer stride, made even longer by his urgency to get to the drug he craved. As far as Starsky knew, he’d had none the whole evening. They made their way quickly to a run-down building a few blocks from the bar, then up three flights of stairs to Hutch’s apartment. Hutch made no attempt to welcome Starsky, but didn’t try to keep him out either, so Starsky followed Hutch in and stood in the middle of the room, looking around curiously. He found himself in a small, studio apartment and almost started to cry again as he looked around, his surroundings feeling more familiar to him than the tall, almost-stranger who lived there. The little furnished apartment was so “Hutch” that it hurt. Every cheap knickknack, every poster taped to the wall, the plants filling every spot where one could possibly survive, the records stacked against the portable stereo, reflected the same likes and dislikes as always, and reassured Starsky that the man he knew and loved still existed under the distant exterior that was being presented to him.
Hutch watched him for a second, still saying nothing, then moved to the tiny kitchen area, opened one of the cabinets, and took out a small box. Hutch’s hands were shaking, but his gaze remained unwavering, still obviously daring Starsky to react. Hutch very deliberately moved close to where Starsky was standing, deposited the box on a small table, and opened it. Only then did Hutch’s gaze move from Starsky’s face to fasten on the instruments of his relief. Starsky watched with the odd fascination of witnesses to a disaster as Hutch prepared the hypodermic. Despite the fact that he was obviously needy by this time, Hutch was meticulous in his actions, carefully sterilizing the needle. What do you get when you cross a junkie with a control freak? Starsky had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud at his own sick humor, though that urge disappeared instantly when Hutch unbuttoned, then pushed up his sleeve, revealing the needle tracks of a long-time addict. Starsky bit his lip again, this time to suppress a wave of nausea. Hutch glanced at him then, for the first time since he’d opened the box. Starsky felt like he failed to disguise the anguish in his eyes this time, but Hutch merely gave a little snort of a laugh, then slid the needle into his bulging vein with a sigh. As he finished, he backed up a few steps and sank into a chair, smiling as the rush soothed him. He stayed like that for about a minute, while Starsky wondered helplessly what to do next, then opened his eyes and grinned at his visitor. “Hey, Starsk,” he said in a slightly slurred voice, “it is so good to see you, man.”
Starsky blinked at the sudden change in Hutch, who rose to his feet, moved forward, and wrapped his arms around Starsky in a tight hug. Oh, Starsky was tempted to give in then to the warmth of those arms he’d missed so much, but he remained stiff in the embrace, not willing to yield to the drug that stood between them, controlling his friend. “It’s good to see you, too, Hutch,” he said softly, then slid from the embrace and backed away a few steps.
“Hey, whassa matter?” Hutch cocked his head inquiringly.
Starsky shook his head. There was no way to have a serious discussion until Hutch came down a little. He looked into Hutch’s eyes, so unbelievably blue with pupils constricted, and smiled a little. “Nothin’,” he replied. “I’m just tired. Let’s go to my hotel, huh? Get some breakfast?”
“Okay, buddy, whatever you say. You’re the guest.” Hutch patted Starsky on the shoulder. “Came all the way to Chicago to see me.”
“Yeah. Hey, why don’t you bring your guitar?” Starsky had a plan in mind. On the off chance it might work, he wanted Hutch to have the instrument with him.
“Sure,” Hutch grinned again. “I’ll serenade ya over breakfast.”
“Sounds nice.” Starsky’s voice was gruff with emotion. Drug or no, the idea of sharing breakfast and some music with Hutch was so wonderful he could hardly bear it. Blinking away the tears, he followed Hutch out of the apartment and into the night.
***
Ushering Hutch into the quiet luxury of his hotel room felt to Starsky like he was ushering him into a different world. Hutch seemed to feel it, too. The walk through the night air had sobered him, and the surroundings obviously unnerved him a bit, as he immediately started to pace around the room. “Take it easy, Hutch,” Starsky tried to soothe him, removing one beer from the six pack he’d picked up on the way over and tossing it to his friend. “Sit down and relax. I just want to talk.”
Hutch shook his head, but did take a seat. “I told you before, there’s nothing to talk about.”
“What do you want to eat, huh?”
“I’m not hungry.” That answer didn’t surprise Starsky at all. Hutch was as thin as he’d ever seen him. Most likely food was not counted among the more important aspects of his life.
“Well, I am, so order something good so I can finish yours if you don’t want it.” Oh, man, it’s so damned easy to fall into the old comfortable patterns!
They still worked, apparently. Hutch smiled a little, and seemed to relax slightly. “Steak and eggs, over easy.”
Starsky smiled, too. “Good choice.” He turned on the television and found an all-night movie station, wanting to ease the tension in the room before he began their conversation, a conversation which could turn out to be one of the most important he’d had in his life. A scene from “True Grit” filled the screen. “I haven’t seen this one in a while.”
“Why are you here, Starsky?” Hutch was apparently not willing to postpone things.
“I needed to know, Hutch. What happened?”
“I’d rather not talk about it. Like I said, it won’t change anything. I’m a junkie.”
“I know that. The question is, why?”
“I can’t live without it, that’s why.”
“Sure you can, if you want to.”
“Dammit, Starsky, you know that’s a bunch of bull.” Hutch got to his feet and paced to the window. After pausing there for a moment, he seemed to make up his mind about something, turned suddenly and headed for the door.
Damn, this was not going at all how Starsky had wanted it to. He intercepted Hutch, grabbing his left arm, then almost letting go of it again as Hutch turned those ice cold eyes upon him. “Wait, Hutch, we’re not finished.”
“We are as far as I’m concerned. My life is my life. You can’t change it. No one can. Now let me go.” Hutch tried to pull his arm away, but Starsky hung on.
“Not until you answer one question. One question, Hutch, please. I gotta know the answer or I’m gonna go crazy. If, well, if the answer’s ‘yes,’ I’ll leave you alone, I promise. But you gotta promise to be honest. One question, Hutch.”
Hutch relaxed his arm. “What?”
Starsky’s heart was in his throat, blocking the words. He needed to ask the question, but he was petrified of the answer. “That night,” he paused to clear his throat. “That night you went to get pizza and…you didn’t come back…” Hutch nodded, encouraging him to continue. “I gotta know, Hutch. Did you leave by choice?”
Say yes, a voice in Hutch’s mind shouted at him. Say yes, and he’ll go away and this torture will be all over. The word was on the tip of his tongue, but as he looked into the anguished sapphire eyes, he couldn’t say it. The one comfort he’d had in all the horrible months since he’d been released had been that he was doing the right thing for Starsky by staying away; that it would be better for his friend to think he was dead than to know the truth. The last thing Hutch had ever wanted to do was hurt him, and he knew with absolute certainty that there was probably nothing in the world that would hurt Starsky more than to spend the rest of his life believing that Hutch had deliberately run away from him without even saying good-bye. “No.” He said it so softly that Starsky couldn’t hear.
“What?” Starsky’s voice shook.
“I said, ‘No.’ I didn’t leave by choice. I was kidnapped.”
Starsky’s eyes closed as his hand tightened on Hutch’s arm. “I knew it,” he breathed. He opened his eyes then, and Hutch saw the guilt there. “It was Forest, wasn’t it?”
Hutch nodded.
“I’m sorry, Hutch, so sorry.”
“Look,” Hutch said, hardening his resolve to leave once again, “now you know, so I’m getting out of here.”
“Hutch, no! You can’t leave now! I want to help you!”
“But you can’t, Starsky. Don’t you see that? No one can help me.”
“Sure I can. You didn’t choose this Hutch, we can…”
“I may not have chosen it the first time, Starsky, but I’ve chosen it thousands of times since. No one’s been holding a gun to my head.” Hutch jerked his arm out of Starsky’s grip and reached for the door.
The knock startled them both. “Room Service.”
Starsky used the moment to grasp Hutch’s arm once more. “Hutch, please. Stay and eat, so we can talk. Please don’t end things like this.”
In all his life, Hutch had never been able to resist a pleading Starsky. He found he still couldn’t. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. Maybe if they talked things out before he left it would be better. After he heard the whole truth, Starsky would probably be glad to see him go.
Starsky smiled gratefully and relaxed his fingers so that his grip became more of a caress. “Thank you,” he whispered, then reached to open the door.
It took several minutes to get the breakfast set up and the waiter tipped. While Starsky bustled around, Hutch returned to the window, staring out at the brightening sky, wondering why Starsky seemed intent on making this so damned hard. Doesn’t the fool know a lost cause when he sees one? He smiled a little then, in spite of himself, remembering Sharman Crane, among many other “lost causes” his outwardly tough partner had insisted on taking on. Dumb question.
“Okay, Hutch, we’re all set. Come and get it.”
Hutch sat down and attempted to eat, managed a few bites of egg. He never had much of an appetite anymore. He reached for his cigarettes instead.
“Hey,” Starsky requested softly, “instead of poisoning your lungs, why don’t you serenade me like you promised?”
Hutch shrugged and reached for the guitar. He didn’t remember the promise, but that was nothing new, there were plenty of entire days he didn’t remember. He began to play quietly, songs he knew Starsky liked, and it helped dispel some of the tension in the room. In the tortuous months since his kidnapping, music had become the only pleasure in his life, other than a fresh fix. It seemed while he played he could feel like a real person again, if only for a little while.
Starsky ate in silence as Hutch played, putting his fork down after finishing a good part of his food. Since he appeared to be finished, Hutch stopped playing. “Play ‘Don’t Give Up on Us,'” the dark-haired man requested.
Hutch shook his head. “Good try. Starsky, let’s get this over with.”
Starsky pulled his chair over so he was sitting directly in front of his friend, and gently pulled the guitar out of Hutch’s hands, placing it on the floor beside him. The little time out for breakfast had given him a chance to reorganize his thoughts, but he could only hope he was ready for what he knew would be the fight of his life. “Hutch, tell me what happened,” he ordered softly.
Hutch sighed, but complied, hoping that once Starsky heard the whole story, he would let him leave without a fight. He related the story of his capture and confinement, including every shameful detail of his weak-minded submission to the power of the drug. Starsky listened without interrupting until Hutch described how he had been set free.
“You’re tellin’ me you didn’t escape? They just let you go?” Starsky looked incredulous.
“They didn’t have to keep me prisoner anymore. They knew I was hooked, after all the things I did.” Hutch’s mouth twisted in self-disgust.
“Aw, Hutch, those things weren’t your fault. The drug messed up your mind.”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was too busy looking for my next fix, Starsky. You have to keep your priorities straight, you know.”
Starsky’s heart constricted in sympathy at Hutch’s obvious emotional pain. He’d spent the past few days reading every resource he could get his hands on about heroin addiction. All of them had talked about the shame factor affecting the addicts. “I would’ve helped you.”
“I told you, no one can help me. And this is a waste of time and energy.” Hutch tried to get to his feet to go, only to have Starsky grasp him by the forearms and push him back into the chair. “Hey, let go!”
“Hutch, please, listen to me. You’re wrong. I can help you. And I want to help you. You don’t really want this life…”
“How do you know? If I didn’t want this life, I’d change it. And I haven’t, have I?”
“Look, I know what this drug does to people’s minds and spirits. I know what being a prisoner does. And that’s what you are, Hutch, even though you’re not locked up anymore. You’re still a prisoner to that drug, and what it’s done to you. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight it alone. And it was impossible. But you’re not alone now. I’m here, buddy. I can help you. Together we can get it back.”
Hutch was beginning to feel confused. It really was hard to think straight anymore. Part of him wanted to push Starsky away, even hurt him if he had to, and escape…escape facing what he’d had, and what he’d become, while another part of him wanted more than anything for Starsky to be right. “Huh?” he asked, feeling like he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Get what back?”
“What we had, Hutch. Our life. Us.”
“For Heaven’s sake, Starsky, even you can’t be that naïve!” Hutch did push himself to his feet this time, twisting free of Starsky’s hands, and heading toward the door. But Starsky was faster, planting himself in front of it. “Dammit, idiot, let me out!”
“No.” Starsky lifted his chin defiantly. “I won’t give up that easy. I’m gonna make you listen to me.” Seeing the desperation of a hunted animal in Hutch’s eyes, Starsky shuddered as a wave of deja vu washed over him, remembering all too well a similar dash to the door to prevent Hutch from escaping the first time he’d been kidnapped. Hutch had come close to striking him then. Standing there, the thought flashed through his mind that Hutch might not be able to stop himself this time.
Feeling helplessly trapped, Hutch lifted his hands to Starsky’s upper arms to try to push him away from the door, but Starsky stood firm. Distraught, confused, and frightened, Hutch reacted out of instinct. “I said, ‘Let me out!'” he yelled, lifting Starsky off his feet and hurling him into the wall. Starsky gave a yelp of pain as his head hit, hard, then sank to the floor, moaning softly, momentarily dazed by the blow.
Oh, my God! What have I done? For a moment, Hutch stared at the huddled figure, frozen in horror, then turned back toward the door, part of him wanting desperately to escape. But he couldn’t leave. Another soft moan tore at his heart. Starsky was hurt and, as much as he wanted to flee, he simply couldn’t leave him like that. With a little sob, Hutch moved to his friend’s side and knelt beside him, touching the already swelling lump on his head with gentle, but shaking fingers. “Starsk, you’re hurt. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Starsky blinked a couple of times, then focused on Hutch’s tortured features. “It’s okay,” he muttered, sitting up. “I’m fine. Just surprised me.”
“Don’t move. I’ll get some ice.” Starsky put out a restraining hand, but Hutch was already up, preparing an ice pack with a napkin from the Room Service tray. By the time he returned to press it gently against the bump, Starsky was completely alert again. “Now you see,” Hutch said bitterly, as he held the ice in place. “Now you see what I really am.”
“That wasn’t you, Hutch,” Starsky said, firmly, but gently. “That was the drug, and fear.” He reached up and covered the hand holding the napkin with his own. “This is you, buddy.”
“Damn, you’re stubborn. I could have killed you!” He slid his hand out from under Starsky’s, leaving the injured man to hold the ice himself, then turned and lurched back to the chair, dropping his head into his hands. “Give it up, Starsky. Please. It’s too far gone to ever get it back.”
Starsky put down the ice and moved to the shaken figure, ending up kneeling in front of him. “Hutch, as long as you’re alive, I will never give up on you. You can’t want this. Give yourself a chance. Let me help you, please.”
Hutch lifted his head to look Starsky in the eye, amazed that he found no disgust in the blue depths, just sympathy and love. “Starsky, please. Go back to L.A.. You’ve got a life there, a new partner. All I can do is mess it…” The words had escaped before Hutch realized what he’d been about to reveal. He snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late.
Starsky reached out a hand and very gently touched Hutch on the cheek. The man was trembling noticeably, whether from emotion or the beginning of withdrawal, Starsky had no way to know. Hutch squeezed his eyes shut at the contact, almost as though it caused him pain. “That’s it, isn’t it, Hutch? The real reason you didn’t call me. You thought if you called me, it would mess up my life, didn’t you?” Starsky’s voice was soft, but firm, demanding a response.
“Of course it would mess up your life! I can’t be a cop anymore and it would ruin…”
“Aw, Hutch.” Starsky could see that Hutch was beginning to listen, and strove to find the words that would reach him. “I went on with my life without you because I didn’t think I had a choice. I thought you were dead.”
“And it was better that way.”
“Who are you to say what’s better for me? Do you honestly think I’d choose bein’ a cop over having you back, alive?”
Hutch shrugged. “Yeah, I thought…”
“Well, you thought wrong, buddy. I’ve been a cop without you for almost a year now, and, believe me, I’d rather be anything with you, than a cop without you. That’s not just a guess, Hutch. I’ve been there. I know.”
“You don’t know. You see how I am, how weak… I hurt you, my best friend…”
“That was the drug, not you.”
“The drug is me. I can’t give it up.” There were tears sparkling in the light blue eyes now. “Don’t you think I’ve tried? I can’t do it. And believe me, you don’t want me like this.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But you can kick it, Hutch. You can, for me, for us. We can…”
“Starsky, I can’t. Not even for you. I could never go through that again.”
“I’m not talking about cold turkey, Hutch. I wouldn’t ask you to go through that again, ever. But there’s places that can help you…where you won’t suffer like that. There’s one not too far from here. Say yes, and we’ll leave right now. We can be there in less than an hour. You can have it back, partner.”
Partner. The word sliced through the defenses in his mind, dazzling him with the memories of how it had been before. He’d worked so hard to push those memories away, so sure, so totally sure that he’d lost that life forever. Was it possible to get it back? For the first time since he’d been kidnapped he felt an emotion he’d thought never to experience again, a tiny bit of hope. No! His strength to fight was failing rapidly, but he called upon it to last a little longer.
“We can’t. I can’t be a cop…”
“Hutch, listen, please. I’m not so sure you can’t. You’re a victim here, not a criminal. Dobey’d go to the wall to get you reinstated, if that’s what you want, and so would I.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“Maybe not. I can’t promise what they’ll do, but I can promise what I will do. Hutch, I love you. Kick this stuff and you can have me back, just like always. The rest is details. If we’re cops, fine. If we’re doin’ something else, that’s fine too. The only thing that really counts is we have each other. And you can have me, Hutch, guaranteed.”
“I don’t know…” Tears streamed down Hutch’s face, and he was shivering harder with every second that passed. Was it possible? “I’ve tried to stop. I couldn’t. I don’t know.”
“You were alone, Hutch. You said before that you chose the drug a thousand times, but the truth is you had no choice. But now you do. I’m here, buddy. I won’t share you with heroin, but now you do have a choice. I can get you to people who can help you. You can kick it. And when you do, I’ll be there. No matter what, I’ll be there.”
Sensing that Hutch was on the verge of giving in, Starsky decided to try to push for the final victory. He reached out and lifted Hutch’s chin with his fingers, so that their eyes could meet. The eyes were no longer icy, but filled with fear and the anguish of indecision. Hutch was teetering on the edge, and Starsky searched his mind and heart for just the right words that could push him over it. Moving his hands to Hutch’s shoulders, he spoke, “Hutch, for months you’ve been controlled by the poison in your system. Together we can take that control away. Now you can choose, give me the control, just for a little while. If we don’t stop it now, that junk will keep control forever until it kills you. But I won’t. I’ll take control for however long it takes to help you, then I’ll give it back.” Starsky squeezed the quaking shoulders under his fingers, moved closer so he was only inches from Hutch’s sweaty face, capturing his attention completely. “Partner,” he said in an intense whisper, “it’s who do we trust time. Do you trust me?”
Hutch’s head was spinning, heart pounding as if it would leap from his chest. Do you trust me? Practically from the day he’d met Starsky there had been one central truth in Hutch’s life. He trusted Starsky. No matter what else had happened, through all sorts of physical and emotional hell, that fact had kept him going, had been his light in the darkness, his life preserver in every stormy sea. He gasped for breath, overwhelmed by what he was feeling. In his gut he could feel the painful beginnings of his craving for the drug, but in his heart, his mind, his soul, he craved what he could share with the man in front of him. And, by God, it was Starsky he craved more. Do you trust me? Even now, there was only one possible answer. “Yes,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Yes, I trust you.”
That’s my Hutch! Starsky moved his hands again, this time to clasp Hutch’s face between them. “You want me or the junk?”
Hutch blinked tears out of his eyes. “You.”
“What?”
“I want you.”
“Okay, okay then.” Tears filled Starsky’s own eyes and love filled his heart, as his thumbs wiped at the wetness on Hutch’s cheeks, then he briefly wrapped his arms around his suffering friend and pulled him close, rubbing his back. “We’re gonna need to leave now,” he murmured into the ear next to his mouth. He felt a nod against his shoulder. Thank you, God. “Me and thee, Hutch.”
“Yeah.” The response was a strained whisper, but it was the most beautiful sound Starsky had ever heard. “Me and thee, Starsk.”
***
Within a half hour Starsky was driving swiftly down the Eisenhower Expressway. He was grateful for the sparse traffic of dawn on a Saturday morning, which made it easy for him to follow the directions the rehab center had given him. Even so, the ride was seemingly interminable. He glanced at Hutch, slumped in the passenger seat, and shook his head worriedly. Although Hutch had gone longer than this without a fix during his shift at the bar, the emotional stress of the past few hours had obviously taken its toll, and his partner was showing definite signs of distress, holding his trembling hands across his abdomen as he seemed to slouch a little further with each passing minute. Starsky didn’t know whether to be relieved or frightened by the fact that as Hutch was becoming more strung out, he seemed to be growing more frightened and depressed, rather than becoming aggressive and angry as Starsky had feared he might. Once Hutch had agreed to leave with him he’d risked losing physical contact with his friend just long enough to make a quick call to the rehab center to inform them of their pending arrival. That way he could be sure they’d have a physician on hand to check Hutch in and put him on Methadone, at least long enough for them to decide on a course of treatment. Other than that, he’d kept a hand on Hutch’s arm every minute until he’d gotten him safely into his rental car and started the drive to the suburbs. Since then they had driven in silence, until Starsky had found a music station on the radio, hoping the soft sounds might soothe them both.
Starsky spotted his exit and turned onto the quiet streets leading to the facility. He feared what might happen when they arrived and Hutch would learn the one thing Starsky had failed to tell him. He felt guilty that he’d asked Hutch to trust him and then concealed this piece of information, but it had seemed a good idea at the time, since convincing Hutch to go with him at any cost had been the most important thing. Heart pounding, he glanced again at his passenger. “Hey,” he called softly, “how you doin?”
Hutch looked up at him out of anguished eyes, then back down at his lap. “Not too good,” he answered in a quavery voice. “I’m really scared, Starsk. I-I-I’m not sure I can do this.”
“You can do it, Hutch. I know you can. These people know what they’re doing. Hey, here we are.” Hutch seemed to curl up even tighter within himself as Starsky pulled into the parking lot, then right up in front of the door. He turned off the car and opened the door to turn on the light, then faced Hutch. “Buddy,” the word came so naturally to his lips, “there’s something I wanna warn you about before we go in, okay?”
“Wa-warn me?” Hutch looked up and blinked. His already visible trembling seemed to increase before Starsky’s eyes.
Starsky reached with both hands to clasp Hutch’s clenched fists. “Listen, Hutch. Really listen, okay?” He waited till Hutch nodded, then went on. “This place is really good, Hutch, the best. I checked on it before I came. They do a great job, have an excellent success rate. But they have a rule…and I don’t like it, but it seems to work.”
“What rule?”
“The first couple or three weeks that you’re in here is what they call detox. It’s while they get the drug physically out of your system.” Starsky gave the shaking hands a squeeze. “During that time,” he paused to take a breath, finding the words incredibly difficult to say. “During the de-tox period, you can’t have any visitors.”
Hutch’s eyes widened. “What?” he whispered, his voice hoarse with fear.
“I won’t be able to see you for a while. It doesn’t mean I’m not there for you, Hutch. I am. I won’t stop thinkin’ about you for one second, but we won’t be able to see each other for a couple of weeks.” Starsky’s words were tumbling out as he attempted to persuade Hutch that it would be okay, that he wasn’t breaking his promise to be with him all the way. “It’s a good thing really, ‘cause you should kick it for you, not me, you know. I’m sorry, Hutch. But it’s the only way. Please don’t give up now. Please.”
“No, no, I can’t, I can’t.” Hutch shook his head vehemently. Somewhat to Starsky’s surprise, he seemed more frightened than angry with Starsky for having misled him.
“Yes, you can, buddy. You can. These people know what they’re doing. They’ll help you. They know what to do so you won’t suffer so much. It won’t be like the last time, Hutch, I promise you that. You can do it. And I’ll be waiting for you. The minute they let me, I’ll be there.” Starsky was desperate to find the right words to get Hutch to go through with this, but he wasn’t even sure his companion was totally understanding him. He looked at Hutch, shaking with fear, eyes anguished, and thought that, despite the ravages of a year of addiction, Hutch looked very young and vulnerable at that moment, like a terrified little boy. Starsky released Hutch’s wrists and clasped his face between his hands, stroking the cheeks gently with his thumbs. “It’s gonna be okay, Hutch. You can do this. All we gotta do is walk together through that door. Okay, you with me?”
Hutch blinked, searching Starsky’s face for reassurance. After long moments he shrugged slightly. “Okay.”
Starsky let out his breath with relief, grateful, but saddened, that Hutch simply didn’t seem to have the strength left to fight him. He reluctantly removed his hands from Hutch’s face, then quickly got out of the car and raced to the passenger side to help Hutch out. The taller man was shaky and sweaty, but allowed Starsky to get an arm around his waist and guide him to the door. They had to buzz for entrance, but were immediately allowed in. Starsky held on tight to Hutch as he felt him tense at the sight of the three people waiting to greet them, fearing he might turn and flee, but Hutch appeared to realize he was effectively trapped and made no move, just eyed the strangers fearfully. One of them, a woman, moved to the pair and held out her hand.
“I’m Dr. Lynn Sprague,” she said calmly. “We talked on the phone, Mr. Starsky.”
Starsky recognized her as the social worker who had given him the details about the program, and who had made the arrangements for Hutch’s admission. Since he was holding onto Hutch with his right hand, he held out his left. “I’m Dave Starsky, and this is my friend, Ken Hutchinson. He’s starting to feel pretty bad, I’m afraid,” he warned her.
She nodded and turned to Hutch. “Hello, Ken, I’m Lynn. We’re very glad you’re here and we’re going to do everything we can to help you.” She held out her hand and Hutch reached out a shaky hand automatically to grasp hers. She held onto it firmly, demanding his attention. She smiled then and indicated the two men standing a few feet in front of them. “This is one of our staff, Ed Banks, and this is Dr. Richard Marcus. He’s a psychiatrist. We’re going to take you into a little room right over there, so we can sign the admission papers and explain the rules, and that should only take a few minutes. Then Richard is going to give you a check-up and give you something to make you more comfortable. Okay?”
Hutch turned to Starsky, who nodded encouragement, muttered an okay, then followed the trio into a smaller room with a desk and several comfortable chairs. Starsky pushed Hutch into one of them, then dragged another close by so he could sit next to his friend. He kept an arm protectively around Hutch’s shoulder as Dr. Sprague quickly explained the treatment program, then focused in on Hutch’s rights. As she explained carefully that Hutch, as an adult who was not under any kind of court supervision, had to sign himself in, and what that meant, Hutch seemed to try to pay attention, though that was obviously becoming increasingly difficult. Initially he sat relatively straight in the chair, wringing his hands, but as the minutes passed he began to slump over, holding his stomach. Noticing his difficulties, Dr. Sprague hurried through her description of what procedures Hutch had to follow to sign himself out, then came around to stand beside him with a pen. Kneeling so that she was able to look him in the face, she asked, “Do you understand your rights, Ken?” A nod. “Sign here, then, and we’ll get started.” She placed the pen in Hutch’s fingers and, after another a quick glance at Starsky, he signed his name at the X in a shaky scrawl.
Starsky took a breath, trying to fight the wave of guilt washing over him. He was aware of the concept of informed consent, and knew perfectly well that Hutch was in no real condition to give it at the moment. It’s for his own good, he tried to assure himself, but still felt like a traitor. “Mr. Starsky.” He started when Dr. Sprague addressed him.
“Yes?”
“We’re going to be taking Ken to the examining room now.” She spoke gently, but the words hit him like a blow to the stomach. Instinctively he tightened his grip on Hutch’s shoulders, even as the other two men came toward Hutch, reaching out to lead him away, then forced himself to let go as the one called Ed gripped Hutch firmly by the arm and pulled him to his feet.
“Oh, God,” he heard Hutch mutter. “Oh, God what am I doing? I can’t do this.” Hutch straightened in Banks’ grasp and twisted to face Starsky. “Starsk,” he said in a voice high-pitched with panic, “Starsk, I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can, Hutch. You have to.” Starsky moved to stand in front of Hutch, then hugged him close. “Go with them, Hutch. It’s all right. They’re gonna give you Methadone so you can feel better. Please.” His eyes met Hutch’s terrified gaze and he tried to convey a sense of confidence he was far from feeling. “Go on, buddy.” He offered a small smile.
Hutch opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again, closing his eyes as well as a shudder shook his entire frame. When he opened them again the fear was gone, replaced by a kind of blank resignation. He moved out of Starsky’s hold as Banks again pulled him toward the door, remaining silent as all three of them left the room. He did not look back.
Feeling stunned and bereft, Starsky stared at the closed door until a touch on his arm roused him. “Mr. Starsky, are you all right?” Dr. Sprague’s eyes were concerned as she studied him.
“What have I done?” He backed up shakily and sank down onto one of the chairs. “Oh, God, what have I done?”
“The right thing,” Dr. Sprague replied firmly, sitting in the chair next to his. “The only possible thing.”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Starsky looked at her almost pleadingly. “You don’t understand. He needs me. I’m not sure he can do this alone. Maybe I should have…”
“He’s not alone. And, I’m not doubting your friendship, but in his condition it wouldn’t have been enough. He needs professional help. I think you know that.”
Her calm tone helped Starsky get control of his own emotions. He did know that Hutch needed professional help, but he also remembered the last time, Hutch clinging to him desperately through the torture of withdrawal, needing everything he had to give. How many times had Hutch told him in the days following that he would have never made it without Starsky? Starsky felt like he was abandoning him now. “I know he needs more than what I can give him,” he finally admitted, “but I just wish I could be there with him.”
“He’ll be all right. Getting him to come was the hardest thing, and he did that. He really must want to get better.”
“Yeah, but he thought…” Starsky let his voice trail off, too ashamed of his belief that he had mislead Hutch into accepting treatment to really admit it.
“Whatever you did to get him in here was worth it,” Dr. Sprague said, as though she could read his mind. “He didn’t choose to be addicted, and once he’s better he’ll be grateful, don’t you think?”
“I hope so.” He had to believe that.
Dr. Sprague patted his knee. “You look exhausted, Mr. Starsky. You’d better get out of here and get some sleep. Let’s pick a time for you to come back tomorrow so we can discuss what will probably be happening over the next few weeks and finish the paperwork, all right?”
Starsky nodded. “I gotta come back tomorrow anyway…bring some of his things, his guitar.” He was exhausted, he realized suddenly, so much so that it took a major effort to get to his feet and begin to move to the door.
“Sleep well,” Dr. Sprague wished him as she let him out. “You did the right thing.”
God, I hope you’re right.
***
A little more than twenty-four hours later, Starsky was back in Dr. Sprague’s office, pacing nervously as he waited for the social worker to finish seeing a patient and meet with him. He’d spent the previous day much as he’d originally planned to, first going back to Hutch’s studio to gather some clothes and personal things for him, and dispose of the heroin hidden in the apartment, then visiting Joe’s Place. Happily, Joe had seemed genuinely pleased to hear where Hutch was, informing Starsky that he’d tried several times himself to convince “Keith” to get straight in hopes that if he got his head together he could have a legitimate career in music. Starsky had not revealed any details about Hutch’s real past, telling Joe only that they were old friends. He wanted Hutch to be able to make his own decisions about his future, and about who knew what, once he was out of rehab.
After the long, exhausting day, Starsky had returned to his hotel in hopes of getting some much needed sleep, but all attempts to do so had failed miserably. Every time he’d dozed off, he’d been awakened by visions of Hutch suffering as he had at Huggy’s years before, but this time alone. Starsky had tried to convince himself that he’d done the right thing by leaving Hutch at the center, but none of his arguments were enough to overcome his guilt about abandoning his partner to fight such a tough battle on his own, especially after promising to be with him all the way. As a result, Starsky found himself back at the center, not to deliver Hutch’s things as arranged, but to fight, however he had to, to get what he knew he and Hutch needed.
Starsky froze in his tracks at the sound of the inner door being opened, turning to see Dr. Sprague enter the office. Her welcoming smile turned into a frown as she took a good look at her visitor. “Mr. Starsky, no offense, but you look terrible.”
“Yeah, Doc, I know. I couldn’t sleep at all.” Starsky’s words tumbled over themselves in his desperation. “This was a big mistake. I should have never done it. I promised him. You’ve got to change your mind. You’ve got to let me in to see Hutch.”
“Mr. Starsky, sit down please.” Dr. Sprague spoke calmly, but with authority. “Please.” She waited as Starsky reluctantly perched on the edge of a chair.
“Doc…”
“Mr. Stars…may I call you Dave?”
“Sure.”
“Dave, I understand how you feel, I really do, but there are reasons for these rules, as I explained to you before.”
“But those don’t apply here, don’t you see?” Starsky was on his feet again, eyes and voice pleading for understanding. “I’m a cop. There’s no way I’d bring anything in here to Hutch. You know that.”
“Of course I do.” Dr. Sprague smiled gently. It was obvious that her visitor was in very real pain about the situation. “But visitors bringing something in is not the main reason we don’t allow them. As I told you the other day, our clients need a chance to focus on themselves during their withdrawal. They need to feel free to express anything. As well-meaning as they may be, family and friends are usually involved in our clients’ issues and codependency.”
“But this is different, don’t you see? Hutch didn’t choose to become an addict. It was like I thought from the beginning. He was kidnapped, forced… He’s a victim here.”
“Most of our clients feel like victims, Dave, for a variety of reasons. One of the most important things they have to do here is learn that they are strong enough to take back control of their lives…”
“But Hutch really is a victim. I don’t have all the details yet, but he was captured at gunpoint and held prisoner somewhere, forced to use heroin. He doesn’t need to learn how not to be a victim, because he had no choice in becoming one. He needs to learn how to trust life again, to take a chance that he won’t be hurt anymore. I promised him he could trust me, and what did I do, his supposed friend? I lied to him. Just when he needed my support more than ever in his life, I betrayed him! How can he learn to trust life again after that? Why should he? I’m sorry I did it now. I’m sorry I agreed. I must not have been thinking straight. Doc, please, I have to see him. Please.”
Breathless after his non-stop tirade, Starsky sank back into the chair, exhausted, head down. “He’s my partner. I’m supposed to be there to back him up.” His voice trailed off into silence for a moment. When he lifted his eyes to Dr. Sprague once more they were glistening with tears. “Please,” he whispered.
The doctor pursed her lips and regarded the man across from her thoughtfully. She’d meant what she’d said when defending the no visitor rule. But rules were created for the usual situation, and this case was anything but. She’d discussed it earlier that morning with Dr. Marcus, who’d been fascinated and horrified by the intake interview with Hutchinson. They’d both had initial doubts about Detective Starsky’s belief that Hutchinson had been kidnapped, but the theory had been verified by what Hutchinson had said. Underneath the patient’s depression, the psychiatrist had found a man who was filled with self-loathing, was scared to death, and was not responding like a typical addict. If what Hutchinson had said was true, and all of the doctor’s instincts had told him that it was, the officer had been held captive and force-fed heroin for weeks. It was amazing that he’d survived and stayed sane, miraculous that he’d managed to function fairly well in society.
Contemplating the desperate man in front of her, Dr. Sprague remembered Dr. Marcus’ impression that Hutchinson’s love for his partner had been the lifeline he’d clung to, even when they’d been separated. He’d had little doubt that their patient would have succumbed to his depression and killed himself, if he hadn’t wanted to protect his partner. And he was certain that Hutchinson would have never sought professional help, if not for his desire to please Starsky.
“Doc?” The quiet plea brought Dr. Sprague back to the present conversation.
“Dave,” she replied, smiling encouragingly, “I believe in our rules, but I also trust my instincts and Dr. Marcus’ as well, and the fact is, you’re right. This case is different.” She was pleased to see the anguish in the exhausted blue eyes change to a gleam of hope. “I’m going to find him right now to discuss your request and see what we can do, okay? Wait here please.”
“Thank you.” As the social worker left, Starsky closed his eyes once more. “Please,” he begged softly to whatever power might be listening. “Please, please.”
It seemed like an eternity before Dr. Sprague returned, accompanied by her colleague, but it was actually less than half an hour. Starsky held his breath as the two professionals sat down to face him, encouraged by the fact that they were both smiling a little. Dr. Marcus reached out to shake Starsky’s hand. “Hello again, Detective.”
“Hello. What did you decide? Can I see Hutch?”
“You know, in the years I’ve been working here, I’ve had many requests to waive the no-visiting rule, and I’ve never honored one…until now.”
Starsky’s gasp of relief was audible in the small room, but before he could speak, the doctor held up a warning finger. “There are going to be some limits to what I allow.”
Starsky nodded, willing to agree to just about anything. “I can deal with that.”
“Good. I had a very intense interview with your friend after he was admitted last night. The tale he told me was quite…disturbing, to say the least. What he’s been through has left him physically and emotionally damaged, in a way that is quite different than most of our clients. He is, naturally, extremely depressed and his depression concerns me. He feels abandoned, yes, but he blames himself for his pain…and yours. His depression, his feelings of abandonment are why I’ve decided it may be therapeutically beneficial to allow you to see each other, despite the risks.”
“Thank you.”
“I still believe he needs to feel strong enough to take back control of his own life, but, under the circumstances, expecting him to do that while he’s physically so weakened may not be reasonable. He’s gone so long without believing he had anyone left for support… I agree with your argument that he needs to see that you are still there for him.”
Starsky nodded his agreement. “I need to see that he’s there, too.”
The doctor smiled. “I want you to know ahead of time that I’m probably going to limit your visits to these first few days, while he’s getting past the physical addiction. Once he’s feeling better, and you’ve had a chance to reestablish the link between the two of you, I will want him to have a period of time in therapy alone. Believing in your friendship is a good thing. Believing he’s not strong enough to handle his own life would not be good.”
Starsky nodded again. Reluctant as he was to leave Hutch alone at all, he could see the logic of the argument. “I won’t fight you on that, Doctor. You’re the expert.”
“Good. There is one other thing. I believe it’s going to be difficult for you to see your friend so depressed. Also, you may feel anxious about responding to him appropriately, so I’m going to arrange for the two of us to have some sessions, to help you handle it.”
“Whatever you say. Can I see him now?”
“In a few minutes. I need to talk to security and some of the nursing staff first. I’ll arrange things so you can come and go as you please, as long as I feel things are progressing well. If I begin to feel that your presence is detrimental for any reason, I’ll change that.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Why don’t you take these few minutes to relax in here, and we’ll be back to get you when we’re set up.”
As the two doctors left, Starsky laid his head back against the chair, weak with relief, and murmured a quiet message to his suffering friend, “Hang on, buddy. Just a few more minutes. Hang on, partner.”
***
It was close to an hour before Dr. Sprague returned to get him. Starsky had used that time to try and pull himself together, wanting to be calm and in control for Hutch. The social worker kept him waiting a few more minutes while she described the treatments Hutch was receiving, fluids by IV, drugs for nausea, non-narcotic pain relievers, anti-depressants. She also informed him that Hutch had elected, so far, not to continue to use Methadone as a maintenance drug, preferring to be drug free after his treatment. Happy as Starsky was about that decision, he wondered how hard that type of withdrawal would be on Hutch. He’d already told Dr. Sprague about his partner’s cold turkey battle with heroin the first time he’d been kidnapped. She reassured him that, this time, the physical discomfort would not be nearly as great, but admitted that she feared it would be a much more difficult experience emotionally, and that it would surely take him far longer to make a complete recovery. Starsky listened carefully, asked a few more questions, then, tired of talking, told her he was ready to see Hutch. “Okay, then,” came the magic words at last. “Let’s go.”
***
Heart pounding, Starsky followed Dr. Sprague down several corridors and past a security desk before arriving at Hutch’s door. “He knows you’re coming,” she told him. “We didn’t want him to be shocked. I’ll leave you two alone for the moment, but someone will be in to check on you soon, and please don’t hesitate to ring for someone if there’s a problem.” With a final pat on the shoulder, she left him at last, and Starsky nervously opened the door, then peeked in.
Hutch was lying in the bed, eyes closed. He’d had a shave, but his hair was still brown, tied in a loose pony-tail, from which several strands had escaped and were plastered against his forehead. Starsky could see that he was sweating, and shivering a little, though the trembling was not nearly as bad as it had been at Huggy’s. The patient was dressed in a hospital gown, and attached to an IV, and Starsky shivered himself for a moment, reminded of how Hutch had looked when he’d had the plague. Starsky just watched Hutch for a moment, then took a deep breath to steady himself and spoke at last, “Hutch?”
Hutch’s eyes flew open and he raised himself up, looking for the source of the sound. “Starsk?” His voice quavered and Starsky’s heart twisted at the fear and doubt he saw in the tired blue eyes that met his.
“Yeah, it’s me buddy.” Starsky moved to sit on the side of Hutch’s bed. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here.” He reached out to grip Hutch’s forearm.
“I thought…thanks for coming back. I didn’t think…”
“I’m so sorry, Hutch. I should have never left you here like that. I wanted you to get help, so I agreed to the rules, but it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
“None of this is your fault. I’m just sorry you’re stuck here, Starsk.” Hutch managed a weak smile. “Thank you for fighting to get in here. The doctors said you’re a very stubborn man.”
“Hey, no surprise there, right? I just hope you can still trust me now. I won’t lie to you again, I promise. No matter what.”
Hutch shrugged and dropped his eyes. “You did it to help me. I know that. Besides, I lie all the time. I can hardly complain about getting what I deserve.” As he spoke, Hutch pulled his arm away from Starsky’s grasp and wrapped both of his arms around himself, shivering a little harder.
Starsky’s eyes widened. Despite the doctors’ warnings about Hutch’s depression, the comment was so unlike the man he knew that it was shocking nonetheless. The self-disgust in Hutch’s voice tore at his soul.
“Aw, Hutch. Hutch, look at me, please.” No response. “Hutch, please.” The downcast eyes lifted slowly. “Hutch, when you’re up to it, I’m gonna want you to tell me what you’ve been through this past year. I know it may take a long time before you can do that, but I want you to know that when you do, whatever you tell me, whatever you did to stay alive, I’m gonna be grateful. If you lied, if you stole…” Hutch flinched visibly at that comment. “Whatever you did, you did it to survive, in self-defense. You had a right to protect yourself. It wasn’t your fault. It was Forest’s fault, all of it. So blame him, not yourself.”
“They let me go, Starsk. A long time ago.” Hutch shook his head. “I’ve made the decisions.”
“No, you didn’t. You were still a prisoner, Hutch. They made sure of that. How long did they have you, huh?” Deprived of the arm he’d held, Starsky moved his hand up and placed it gently against the side of Hutch’s face, feeling the cool, clammy skin.
“I, I don’t know. A few weeks, or a couple of months, I think.”
“Oh my… Hutch, after all that time, you didn’t stand a chance of beating this all alone. No one could. I’m just so glad you’ve got one fantastic instinct for survival, so you could stay alive until I finally found you. What you did during that time is not different than anything you’ve done to stay alive before… Whatever it takes, buddy.”
Hutch shook his head again and sighed, then shuddered more a little more violently. “Damn.”
Starsky moved his hand to Hutch’s shoulder and gripped tightly. “What is it, partner?”
“The Methadone’s wearing off. I don’t feel very good.”
“Should I get the doctor to give you something?”
“No, no. They’ve already got me on lots of stuff.” Hutch glanced toward his IV bottle. “It’s not as bad as last time, but…”
“But what?”
“I’m not sure I can do this again, Starsk. I’m scared, and, and I can’t think straight. And I don’t want to put you through this again. You shouldn’t have to…”
“Hutch, you’re not puttin’ me through anything,” Starsky said patiently. “None of this is your fault.”
Hutch dropped his eyes again and wrapped his arms even more tightly around himself.
“Damn.” Unable to bear the sight of his partner isolating himself even more, Starsky kicked off his shoes, pulled his legs onto the bed, and scooted up so he was sitting beside his friend. He then very carefully put his arm around Hutch’s shoulders and tried to pull him close. For a moment, Hutch resisted. Starsky could feel the tenseness of his muscles, the tremors running through them. “Just relax, Hutch, relax. Let me take care of you. I’ll do the thinking for now.”
“Starsk…” Hutch continued to fight him for another moment, then, suddenly, gave up, collapsing against his partner, letting his head fall onto Starsky’s shoulder with a little sigh.
“That’s it,” Starsky soothed. “That’s it, partner, just relax.” With his free hand, Starsky snagged the blanket that had fallen down around Hutch’s waist and pulled it up to cover his chest.
“Thanks, Starsk. I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Oh, Hutch, do you know how much I’ve missed you, buddy?” The rightness of being with Hutch again washed over Starsky like a cleansing rain. As exhausted as he was, knowing they had a long, long way to go, with Hutch alive in his arms, nothing seemed insurmountable. He allowed his tired eyes to close, drifting a bit in the feelings. “It’s all right now, partner. It’s all right. We can do this, I promise. We can do it.”
“Thanks for coming back, Starsk.” The words were barely audible. “I needed you.”
“I needed you, too.”
***
Starsky was allowed to visit with Hutch for five days, until the initial physical withdrawal had ended. By that time, even Starsky knew it was better for him to go. With Starsky there for support, Hutch did fairly well handling the discomfort. But once Hutch had recovered from the weakness and most severe flu-like symptoms, his depression grew worse, rather than better. Unable to rest, he was in perpetual motion, his thoughts moving from one topic to the next without warning, his body unable to stay in one place more than a few minutes, other than during the very few hours per day in which he fell into an exhausted sleep. The one thought that he did seem to be able to hold on to obsessively, was how much he had made, and was continuing to make, Starsky suffer. No matter how hard Starsky tried to steer their conversations to more pleasant areas, no matter how many times Starsky told Hutch he had nothing to apologize for, Hutch could scarcely go five minutes without thanking Starsky for being there, or saying how sorry he was for what he was putting him through. Frustrated and stressed himself, Starsky finally agreed with the doctors’ opinions that the time had come to let Hutch move on to the next phase of his recovery, and that he needed to do it alone.
Their parting was difficult, made tolerable only by the fact that Hutch seemed relieved to know that Starsky was going to be able to return to his life and not be “stuck with babysitting his addict partner.” Starsky did feel that he’d accomplished his goal of letting his partner know he would be there for him, but still felt guilty about abandoning him, and, despite the doctors’ assurances that Hutch’s depression was what they would have expected, Starsky was terrified that he wouldn’t ever fully recover from it. When he finally found himself on the plane back to L.A., he was tormented by doubts, wondering if the man he’d once known was still there somewhere, under all the self-hatred, wondering if, this time, their partnership might not be enough.
***
After touching down in L.A., a very weary Starsky got his car from the lot and headed to Alec’s. When he arrived, he was pleased to see that his new partner’s car was parked in the driveway. He’d taken a chance on finding him at home, not wanting to explain what was happening anywhere near the squad room. During his meditations on the plane, Starsky’d decided that filling Alec in should be his first order of business upon his return. Whatever Hutch decided to do about his…their…future, Starsky’s partnership with Saunders was effectively ended, and Alec deserved to know the whys and wherefores from Starsky personally and without delay.
***
“Hey, Dave! I didn’t know you were back!” Alec was glad to see his partner, but knew right away that the last week had not been a pleasure trip. Dave looked exhausted and nervous.
“Hi, Alec. I just got back in town and I wanted to come by and let you know what was going on. Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Well, hello, Dave. What a nice surprise,” Alec’s wife greeted him as she came out from the kitchen.
“I’m sorry to bother you, and I can come another time if this isn’t good…” Starsky began.
“No problem, Dave. There’s nothing special happening here.” Alec was anxious to find out what was troubling the veteran detective. “Can we get you something to eat or drink?”
Starsky smiled. “Some kind of soda would be great, if you’ve got it. Or water. Flyin’ always makes me real dry.”
“C’mon, let’s sit in the living room,” Alec invited as Tracey went to get the drinks.
Starsky followed Alec into the room and sat on the couch. Alec sat across from him in an armchair. “What’s up, Dave? You look like the past week hasn’t been easy.”
Starsky smiled wearily. “That bad, huh?” He looked up as Tracey came in with some soda and glasses of ice. She distributed the beverages, then immediately left the room, sensing her presence would not be welcome at that moment.
“Dave, is something wrong?” Alec asked, once they were alone again. “I’d like to help…”
Starsky shook his head. “Actually, things are finally right, I hope. It’s just that the next few weeks are gonna be a little tough.” He paused for a deep breath. “Alec, I need you to keep what I’m gonna tell you just between us and Dobey, at least for now. Will ya do that?”
“Sure.” It was easy for Alec to answer. He trusted Starsky.
“Alec, I found Hutch.”
Alec blinked, trying to make sense of what Dave was saying…”I found Hutch,” not Hutch’s body, not what happened to Hutch, but Hutch? “You, you mean alive?”
Starsky nodded. “I could hardly believe it myself at first. You remember when Huggy called me at work?”
“Yeah.”
“He’d heard from someone they’d spotted Hutch in Chicago. I checked it out, it was him.”
Alec listened with rapt attention as Starsky filled him in on the rest of the story. Although he’d known since he’d been partnered with him that the detective thought Ben Forest might have had something to do with Hutch’s disappearance, he’d never before heard the full story of Hutch’s original kidnapping. His heart ached for the two men when he thought about what they’d both been through, then and now. He sincerely hoped Hutch could kick his addiction again…he had to believe that Dave’s faith wouldn’t be that misplaced.
“So,” Starsky finished, “I came back to see what I can figure out about Forest now that I know for sure it was him. I been missin’ somethin’ all along here, but there’s no way I’m gonna keep missin’ it now.”
“We’ll go over every detail together, Dave, maybe we can figure it out.”
Starsky’s expression was thoughtful. “Thanks, Alec, but before we get to that, there’s somethin’ you need to know. I, uh, I don’t know if Hutch is gonna be comin’ back to L.A., or if he wants to come back to work, or even if he’ll be able to, but I do know that, whatever happens, it’s gonna change things for you and me. If Hutch don’t come back, I’ll be resigning. If he does…well, he’s my partner. You understand?”
Somehow Alec wasn’t shocked by the blunt words. He supposed that once he’d heard that Hutch was alive, the ending of his own partnership with Dave had become inevitable. He didn’t even take it personally…after everything he’d heard about their partnership, how else could it be? “I understand, Dave. I’ll be sorry to lose you as my partner, but I do understand.”
“Thanks.” Starsky smiled at him gratefully.
“I just hope,” Alec continued, “that doesn’t mean you’re not gonna let me help you nail that bastard, Forest. I really want to do that.”
“Really? Alec, it would mean a lot to me for you to do that, but if you’d feel uncomfortable…”
“I’d feel uncomfortable if I wasn’t involved. For right now, you’re still my partner. You want Forest, then so do I, and we’ll get him, too.”
Starsky reached out and gripped Alec’s shoulder for a moment. “You’re a good cop and a good man, Alec. I think I got lucky twice in the partner department.”
Alec thought that was the highest compliment anyone had ever paid him.
***
A very long three weeks later, Starsky was back in Chicago walking into the rehab center. While Hutch had worked tirelessly on recovering from his addiction, Starsky and Alec had worked tirelessly on pursuing Forest. They had finally been successful in subpoenaing phone records from the prison and had just begun the painstaking work of going through them when Starsky received the long-awaited summons from Dr. Sprague to come back to Chicago. Starsky had been proud when Dr. Sprague had informed him that Hutch had succeeded in getting through complete detoxification, rather than having to be on a Methadone maintenance program; a decision, which, hopefully, would make it easier for him to return to the force if he chose to do so. That process had taken more time, however, and, according to Dr. Sprague, Hutch had wanted to be in pretty good shape before seeing Starsky again, so their separation had been longer than he’d expected. Starsky had continued to be tormented with doubt for the whole period, kept awake at night by memories of his partner’s depression and worried about whether he could ever totally recover.
Frustrated by his lack of ability to make headway on catching Forest and exhausted by lack of sleep, Starsky had not really been able to find any joy in the fact that he had found his partner, and had been, frankly, very scared about what would happen when they finally saw each other again. For all that he had promised Hutch they could have what they’d had before, he, himself, was no longer totally sure they’d be able to overcome what they’d both been through. He wasn’t sure Hutch could, or should, forgive him for not finding him sooner when he was in trouble, and he was even less sure that Hutch could ever really forgive himself.
Starsky was, therefore, extremely nervous as he walked up to the information desk, feeling a lot like a high school kid waiting for an important blind date. The receptionist looked up and smiled, “May I help… Oh, Mr. Starsky, welcome back!”
Starsky swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. “Hi. I’m here to see Hutch.”
“Right. The doctor has you listed, with a note that Mr. Hutchinson will be waiting for you outside near the pond. You’ll need to wear this.” She handed him a visitor’s pass to clip onto his shirt. “Have you been there before?”
He shook his head. Hutch had still been restricted to his unit when he’d left.
“After you go through these glass doors, follow the corridor to your left till you come to a door leading outside. When you get outside, follow the path to your right.
“Thanks.”
She buzzed him through the security doors, after which he followed her directions to get out onto the grounds. Once outside, he walked slowly along the sidewalk, both anticipating and dreading what he might find. As he neared the little lake, he heard Hutch before he saw him, the light tenor voice and accompanying guitar music wafting to his ears on the gentle fall breeze. He walked up over a slight rise and suddenly saw his partner, sitting on a bench beside the water. Starsky stopped, mesmerized by the sight. Hutch had cut his hair and washed the brown dye from it, so it gleamed soft, fine, golden in the sunlight. He was dressed in a flannel shirt over blue jeans, wearing white tennis shoes, body relaxed in an achingly familiar pose as he played. Tears filled Starsky’s eyes as he watched. “Hutch.” The name escaped his lips unbidden, a cross between a whisper and a sob.
Until that very moment, Starsky had not really accepted the miracle of his partner’s return to him. Knowing Hutch was alive, free, and a junkie had brought him more pain than pleasure, and trying to comfort the brown-haired, depressed man he’d left at the rehab center had done little to fill the void in his soul that had been there since his partner’s disappearance. He’d hoped, of course, that under that self-hatred there was something left of the man he’d known, but during the three painful weeks of separation in L.A., keeping that hope alive had not been easy.
During the first few months after Hutch’s disappearance, Starsky had occasionally found himself imagining what it might be like to find Hutch again, but those fantasies had faded over time along with any realistic hope that they might happen. And the events of the past few weeks had been so completely different from any of those visions that they hadn’t really touched his heart, until now….
He moved forward a little, drawn to the golden embodiment of his dreams like a moth to a flame, then stopped a few yards from his goal, legs shaking so much that he felt unable to take another step. “Hutch?” He was close enough now that even the strangled croak that emerged from his lips was enough.
Hutch instantly stopped playing and turned toward the sound. “Starsk?” Then he smiled warmly in welcome. It took Starsky’s breath away. That smile, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and the affection shining in those blue eyes were everything he could have wished for, but thought never to see again. Could he let himself believe in the miracle at last?
Hutch’s smile faded and became a look of concern as he put down the guitar and moved to his partner, who stood frozen, tears running down his cheeks. “Starsk, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Starsky tried to answer, but couldn’t get a sound around the lump in his throat. He managed only to shake his head, then hold out trembling hands to his partner.
“Aw, Starsk.” Hutch moved into Starsky’s arms, wrapping his own around his friend and pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”
Starsky let himself melt into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Hutch’s waist, enjoying the kind of support and comfort he’d never dreamed of feeling again. “I got you back,” he murmured finally. “Thank God, Hutch, I got you back.”
They stood like that for a long time, Starsky sobbing quietly, his head against Hutch’s shoulder as the other man rubbed his back, murmuring, “It’s okay, it’s okay now.”
When Starsky had finally cried himself out, he stepped back a little and looked up into Hutch’s eyes, which were also wet. “Hutch, Hutch,” he breathed, “I’ve missed you so much.”
Hutch tried to smile, but couldn’t quite make it. “I’m sorry…,” he started.
“No, Hutch,” Starsky interrupted in a firm voice, “like we talked about before I left, none of what happened was your fault. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for.” He paused to take a breath. “There’s gonna be lots of things we have to work out, I know, and it’s gonna take a while, but we gotta start with the fact that I don’t blame you for any of this. You were the victim, Hutch, okay?”
“You sound like my doctors, Starsk,” Hutch’s smile returned at last. “It’s hard, but I’m beginning to really believe that, finally.”
“I’m glad, Hutch. That’s a big step.”
Hutch reached out and brushed at the curls at Starsky’s temple. “I missed you, too, Starsk, so much, the whole time I was gone. I think, I mean, I know my thinking was all mixed up, but somehow I really thought it was the best thing for you if I stayed away. I’m still not sure I wasn’t right.” He moved his hand to brush at the moisture on Starsky’s cheek.
“Aw, Hutch.”
“I know, I know.” Hutch chuckled a little.
Starsky was finally able to smile himself. “Let’s sit down, huh?” The two men moved back to the bench where Hutch had been playing, Starsky keeping a hand on Hutch’s arm the whole way. Once they were settled he eyed his partner critically. “Hutch, how ya been doin’?” he asked.
“Okay,” Hutch said. “Really,” he added when Starsky looked dubious. “I still get some pretty bad headaches, and I don’t sleep well yet, but I’ve been doing yoga to help that. They give me Tylenol for the headaches, and an antihistamine to sleep when that gets really bad, but that’s it. Otherwise, I’m off everything.”
“Damn, Hutch, I am so proud of you!” Starsky put his arm around Hutch’s shoulder and hugged him again. “You still look pretty skinny, though,” Starsky teased gently. Actually he was pleased to see that Hutch did look fairly good, far better than he’d expected, though dark circles under the blue eyes testified to the sleep problems.
Hutch shrugged. “I don’t get too hungry. They said not to worry about it.”
“They tell you how long you hafta stay?” Starsky pursued.
“Probably another three weeks if everything goes okay. But I don’t mind, especially now that you’re here and I can see you every day. I’ve really, really missed you.”
“I’m sorry I…”
“Hey,” Hutch interrupted. “You don’t have anything to apologize for either, buddy. You saved my life, and my sanity. I’m gonna be okay, Starsk.”
The knot of tension that had existed in Starsky’s gut since the night he’d left Hutch at the center loosened a little finally. “I was pretty worried about you when I left you here alone and went back to L.A. You were still so depressed, and I couldn’t seem to help you.”
“Oh, Starsky, you helped me. You’ll never know how much. Having you here those first few days… even when you left, I knew you were still with me.” He tapped his heart. “In here. I could have never done this without you. Never. And, depressed as I was, I knew, deep inside, you wanted me back, really wanted me back, so I knew I had to beat this thing ‘cause I couldn’t give you up again, not if I could help it.”
“Thank you,” Starsky said huskily, “for fighting for us. Thank you.” For a long moment the two men gazed at each other, letting the healing begin. “So,” Starsky said finally, “what’s the program now?”
In a gesture that was still automatic even after all their months apart, Hutch reached out and grabbed Starsky’s wrist to look at his watch. “My first family therapy session begins in about twenty minutes.” He smiled. “I told them you’re my family.”
“Correct,” Starsky nodded.
“That’ll take an hour, then we can grab some dinner in the cafeteria and go to the activity room till visiting hours are up. If you want, we could play some chess.”
The thought of enjoying that simple pleasure with his friend again caused Starsky’s eyes to fill with tears once more. Embarrassed, he wiped at them. “Geez,” he muttered, “I’m a regular waterworks today.”
“It’s okay, buddy,” Hutch said, wrapping his arms around Starsky again for a brief, but firm, hug. “C’mon,” he said then, pulling Starsky to his feet. “Let’s go inside and I’ll show you around a little before the session.”
Arms around each others’ shoulders, they made their way back into the building together.
***
“Hey, Lynn,” Starsky greeted the social worker, “you know where Blondie is?” He’d just arrived at the center and had happened to run into the therapist in the hall.
“He’s still in with Dr. Marcus at the moment, but I’m glad I ran into you. We just finished telling Ken that we’re anticipating releasing him one week from today. He’s pretty excited.”
“One week, really?” Starsky grinned broadly. “That’s great! I mean, it’s great if you’re sure he’s ready. We both want to be sure before we go.”
“We’re as sure as we can be. He’s doing remarkably well. His case is so unusual that it’s a little hard to predict everything that will happen, but right now we’re all extremely optimistic.”
“Thank God.”
“Yes, and thank you.”
Starsky shook his head. “Hutch is the one that’s done all the work. I’m real proud of him.”
“You have reason to be. He’s worked very hard, but he’d be the first to say that he wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for you pushing him to do it, and being with him every step of the way. Without you he could never have overcome the guilt and self-hatred that made him so vulnerable to the drug. You made him believe he could have something better than the heroin again, and that belief gave him the strength to fight, even though he was terrified of the withdrawal. You offered him the one thing that could compete with the heroin…you. He himself calls you his ‘drug of choice.’ He’d do anything for you.”
“I feel the same way.”
Dr. Sprague smiled warmly. “I know, which is why I’m so optimistic. I’ve never been so confident in a patient’s support system as I am with Ken’s. I feel real strongly that the two of you will be just fine.”
Starsky smiled nervously. “I hope so. Actually, it’s good I ran into you, ‘cause, speakin’ of that, I was wondering if you think Hutch is ready to talk about the future yet…the job and all?”
“Yes, I do. He needs to talk about it, in fact.”
Just at that moment, the subject of their conversation appeared down the hall behind the social worker. “Hey, there,” Hutch called.
“Hey, buddy. I hear we got some good news today!”
Hutch grinned. “Yeah, I get sprung in a week.”
“Sounds like we need to do some celebratin’,” Starsky responded. “Care to join us in the cafeteria, Lynn?”
“It’s tempting, but my family awaits,” Dr. Sprague replied. “But you two go on and enjoy yourselves.”
After exchanging good-byes, Starsky and Hutch headed to the cafeteria for their “party.” “Here’s to a week from today,” Starsky said, holding up his Coke glass for a toast.
Hutch smiled and clinked glasses. “I can’t believe it, finally!” His smile faded when he noticed Starsky staring at his glass with a sad expression on his face. “Starsk, you okay?”
Starsky looked up and managed a grin. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, thinking that this was not the time to talk to Hutch about the lonely way he’d celebrated Hutch’s birthday the past two years, having been reminded of his solitary toasts by the sound of the glasses. Hutch looked concerned, but didn’t push it. One of the lessons they’d been learning in therapy over the last two weeks was that it was going to take some time for both of them to deal with everything they’d been through in the past year, and that some things would need more time to get over than others. Starsky reached out and patted Hutch’s hand lightly. “I was remembering something, but I don’t want to talk about that now. I’d rather talk about you getting outta here. Do you think you’re ready?” He knew Hutch was doing amazingly well, but that he was still having occasional headaches and some sleep problems, as well as periods of moodiness and anxiety. The doctors had informed them that those symptoms could continue for some time, and were working with both men on some strategies for helping Hutch deal with the problems until they finally stopped.
Hutch nodded. “It’s scary,” he admitted, “but I think I can handle it. We can handle it,” he amended. “Only now we’ve gotta figure out what I’m gonna do with my life, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, there’s something I’ve been waiting to talk to you about until you were ready to start thinking about that. I didn’t want you worryin’ about anything you shouldn’t before now.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know if you remember, back in the hotel that night, talking about not being able to be a cop again?”
Hutch shook his head a little. “Only vaguely.”
“Well, you seemed real sure that you couldn’t be. But I couldn’t really tell if you wanted to, if you could, I mean. I don’t know if you’ve thought about it since then either…”
“Not much point in thinking about something that’s never gonna happen, Starsk.”
“But if it could happen, would you want to?” Starsky persisted.
Hutch shrugged. “I don’t know. I just assumed it would never be possible…Are you saying it is? You can’t be….”
“I think maybe it is, Hutch. But I don’t wanna push you into anything you don’t want, because maybe you think I do. I told ya before, I’d rather be anything with ya than a cop without ya and I meant it.”
“I think this is a waste of time, Starsky. You can’t really believe they’d take me back…”
“I do believe it, Hutch, especially considerin’ how well you’re doing. Those three weeks I was back in L.A., I was checkin’ things out. Dobey and I and your lawyer met with the Commissioner and several members of the Review Board, and the psychologist…bunches of people. In the end, they all pretty much agreed. What happened to you was like bein’ injured in the line of duty. And if you do want to come back, they should look at it like you’ve been on disability, let you requalify. Which means if you pass the physical and psychological and other tests, and if you’ll agree to random drug testing and continue with counseling, they’d reinstate you, back pay and all.”
Hutch was staring at Starsky like he was crazy. “You honestly believe they’d do that? I don’t believe it. I…if I came back they could never keep what happened to me a secret. People will know! Starsky, there’s no way.”
“Aw, Hutch, don’t forget, you’re famous. After what you did with Gunther and all, they’d look pretty bad not letting you back on the force when this wasn’t your fault. Dobey and I kind of reminded them of that, and they decided they’d rather have the publicity of having a recovered addict on the force, than the publicity they’d get if they treated you like dirt… Besides, attitudes about addiction are changing. There’s plenty of cops on the force who’ve been treated for alcoholism and are back now. This ain’t no different, they figure. And if you agree to drug testing, the public’ll be okay with it.”
“Sounds like you blackmailed them, Starsk.”
“No one blackmailed anybody, just pointed out some publicity reality.” Starsky was wearing a sly grin as he spoke. ‘”Sides, it wasn’t just me. Dobey was there, too.”
Hutch shook his head. “I still don’t believe it.”
“Well, it’s the truth. I don’t think they’d renege now on a deal that Dobey and your lawyer were part of. And I wanted you to know that it was an option if you wanted it. But I don’t want you to feel any pressure about it. Whatever you decide, wherever you decide, it’ll be fine with me.”
“Starsk, that’s not fair to you. You should be part of this decision, too.”
“I am part of it. I want what you want, Hutch. It’s that simple. The only thing I’m gonna insist on is staying a cop long enough to get Forest. After that, I’m all yours, whatever you wanna do.”
“It’s probably going to surprise you, but I already know.”
“You do?” Starsky was, in fact, surprised.
“I wanna be a cop, if they’ll let me.”
“Hutch….”
“I mean it, Starsk, and it’s not only ‘cause I think that’s what you want, although that’s a small part of it, I admit.”
Starsky still looked doubtful, so Hutch tried to explain. “It had to do with Gunther. I never really talked this out with you at the time, ‘cause I wasn’t sure you’d want to be a cop after what happened, or even if you could for a while there and I didn’t want to push you.”
“Well, talk it out now.”
Hutch nodded. “It’s no secret that the year before Gunther was tough for me. I, uh, a lot of things had happened to us, and I was feeling pretty disgusted with things…feeling like the system I’d always believed in was a lie; that the good guys couldn’t win, no matter what. It’s why I quit.”
“I know.”
“Then you got shot.” Hutch closed his eyes and his jaw tightened as the memory of that day flashed through his mind. It still had the power to send chills up his spine; it probably always would.
“Yeah?” Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s arm and squeezed a little. In some ways Hutch’s psychological injuries from the attack had been worse than Starsky’s physical ones.
Hutch looked up at the touch and smiled a little. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t pulled through, Starsk. I can’t even imagine it.”
I can, Starsky thought, but didn’t say the words. Hutch already felt guilty enough.
“But you did pull through,” Hutch continued, with wonder in his voice. “It was a miracle. I, I didn’t know what I did to deserve it, but I thought that maybe, after we’d tried so hard…It felt so good, like maybe there was some reward for doing the right thing. And then, on top of everything, we got Gunther, one of the richest and most powerful men in the world, and we got him!” Hutch paused to take a drink of his Coke and smiled across the table. “It was strange, Starsk. You were still so miserable and our future was still real uncertain, but some things felt so right again all of the sudden. The system had worked, just like it was supposed to, and suddenly I realized that all the reasons I’d decided to be a cop were still good reasons, the good guys could win, not always, not easily, but if we tried hard enough, they could win.”
“I can’t believe you never told me this.” Starsky’s voice was gentle.
“I’m not sure why I didn’t. I mean, at first I didn’t want to put pressure on you, and once you were better and we found out you could probably come back, well, I guess I didn’t really focus on that part of it. Everything just felt so good. You could tell that, couldn’t ya?” Hutch’s smile faded at Starsky’s lack of response. “Couldn’t you?”
Starsky sighed. “I thought I could, Hutch, till you disappeared. I guess after that I had some doubts once in a while, especially when I realized you…hey, we’re gettin’ off the subject. I’m glad you’re telling me now, buddy, about feelin’ good about bein’ a cop. But after all you’ve been through…”
“I want to be a cop, Starsk, if they’ll let me, and if you want to.”
“Aw, Hutch, bein’ a cop with you as my partner is the best thing in the world to me, you know that.”
“Good, ‘cause that’s what I want to be, if it’s really possible. If not, we’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
“Oh, man, Hutch,” Starsky breathed, “this is too much. I never thought…” He paused and raised his glass. “To us, partner.”
“God, Starsk, I like the sound of that word.”
“Amen.”
***
“Damn, I can’t believe this!” Alec closed his eyes, cleared his mind, then reviewed the pages of phone records again. As Starsky had found out more details of Hutch’s imprisonment, he’d fed the information to Alec in LA. With the search focused on the midwest, especially the Chicago area, it had not been difficult to discover the identities of Don, Evan, and Mike; Don turning out to be a high-priced hitman, the other two known associates of his. They hadn’t been located so far, but they would be. In searching for ties to Forest in LA, Alec had gone over the prison phone records with a fine toothed comb. No prisoner, including Forest, had made calls to farm areas in the midwest that could not be explained. But Alec had just found someone who had, and he couldn’t believe it. The numbers were the same the second time he looked, inspiring him to make some calls himself. As soon as he was finished, he went to see Dobey.
***
Warden Jack Matthews walked nervously into Captain Harold Dobey’s office, to find himself in the presence of the captain, the District Attorney, the head of the Los Angeles office of the FBI, and one younger man he didn’t recognize. From the grim look on their faces, he knew that the jig was up. “Warden,” Dobey’s voice was sarcastic, “have a seat.”
While terrified in some ways, Matthews almost felt relieved. He met Dobey’s eyes.
“Why?” the black man asked. “You had an unblemished record for twenty years. Why?”
“You don’t have to answer that,” the DA interrupted. “Do you want to call your lawyer?”
Matthews shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll answer. Over is over.” He turned back to Dobey. “The usual reason,” he said wearily, “money. My wife has been very sick, cancer. Her doctors told me about an experimental treatment that a doctor in Phoenix was trying, but my insurance wouldn’t pay for it because it was too new. I didn’t think it was any big deal…Forest told me I would be helping him with confidential legitimate business arrangements he didn’t want to make on the prisoners’ phones because all those conversations are taped.”
“Business arrangements!” Dobey bellowed, rising to his feet. “You believed that?”
“I wanted to believe it, so I did. Everything I ever said on the phone involved financial things, transfers of funds, arrival of merchandise…”
“Those were obviously codes!” That angry comment came from the young man Matthews didn’t recognize. “Even after Sergeant Starsky started investigating his partner’s disappearance you bought that?”
Matthews didn’t react to the anger. “No, of course not,” he replied in the same weary tone. “But by then it was too late. My wife was in the middle of the treatment, so I didn’t dare stop. And she couldn’t have handled me being sent away to prison right then. I had to see it through.”
“Dammit! Do you have any idea what you put those men through?” The younger man shouted, advancing toward the Warden.
“Saunders, get hold of yourself!” Dobey turned the bellow onto his officer, and Saunders retreated a step.
“I’m sorry for what they went through, but I didn’t know what else to do. And my wife is alive and well. I can’t be sorry for that.”
“You sent and received mail as well?” The FBI man entered the conversation.
“Yes.”
“You’ll testify?” the DA asked.
“Yes.”
“I’ll go call Starsky,” Saunders said, still looking disgusted as he left the office.
***
As he waited in the hot dog line Starsky turned to gaze fondly at Hutch, stretched out on the grass in the sun some yards away. He’d been released from the rehab center the day before, Friday, and they’d decided to spend the weekend enjoying Chicago and each other before returning to LA. The weather had cooperated and they were being treated to a gorgeous late fall day, unusually warm, the air over the lake crystal clear. Hutch sat up and waved at Starsky, and, as he watched his partner’s hair being blown about by the breeze, Starsky felt a glow inside; he was still getting used to the fact that he really had Hutch back, and that the nightmare they’d lived for more than a year was almost over. They had a long road ahead of them, and it would be a bumpy one. Things weren’t going to be easy for his friend. His attempt to get back on the force and the publicity that would inevitably accompany that attempt would be stressful, especially for a person as private as Hutch, but they were on their way down that road now, and they were together. One way or another they would make it. Of that he had no doubt.
Hot dogs procured, Starsky joined Hutch on the grass of the little park, and they gazed out at the lake as they ate. “Howya doin’, buddy?” Starsky inquired softly, noticing Hutch’s thoughtful expression.
“It’s so beautiful out here, Starsk, so peaceful. I wish we never had to leave.”
“You scared about goin’ back?”
“Yeah, sure, but I’m trying not to think about that right now. Just watching those sailboats, feeling the sun, sitting here with you. All these months I never thought it would be possible to ever really feel good again, you know. And this feels good, partner.” He turned to look at Starsky, saw tears shimmering in the deep blue eyes. “Thank you.”
“I’m feeling pretty good myself, Blondie,” Starsky said hoarsely. “Havin’ you back is like a dream. It’s kinda silly, but I’m still a little scared I’m gonna wake up.”
“I’m really here, buddy. And I’m not going anywhere without you again, okay?”
“You better not.” Starsky chuckled a little. “I gotta tell ya, I feel kinda like puttin’ a leash around your neck, so I can be sure never to lose you again. I know it sounds weird…”
“Not so weird as you think. After Gunther I wanted to put you into some kind of bullet-proof booth or something, to make sure nobody could ever hurt you again. And when I couldn’t do that, well, I know I was pretty over-protective of you when you first came back.”
“Oh, really?” Starsky rolled his eyes. “I never noticed.”
Hutch blushed a little. “Sorry,” he said meekly.
“Don’t be. I may not have liked it, but I knew you were doin’ it ‘cause you cared. Nothing to be sorry for. Unfortunately, we can’t live like that for long and still do our jobs.”
“No, but we can keep on watching each others’ backs like we always have. It’s been good enough so far.”
Starsky nodded, then turned to look back out at the lake. “We’re gonna be more careful, Hutch, just like we started to do after Gunther. We can’t make our work a hundred percent safe, but I want us both to try to make the odds as good as they can be, agreed?”
“You’ll get no argument from me. Besides, I think we’re both getting a little old to be running around in back alleys all day.”
“Speak for yourself. I’m in as good a shape as ever. Hey, see that boat out there? Looks like a tour. Can we do that?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. That’s the Wendella Boat Ride. I heard it’s really good, especially on a clear day like this. You can see a lot of neat architecture and the locks, too.”
“Let’s do it, huh? Do you get on near here?”
“Actually, you get on near the Wrigley Building. It’s a little bit of a walk, but someone in your shape could easily handle it.”
“Great, let’s go.” Starsky got to his feet and reached a hand to his partner to pull him up. Once Hutch was standing, Starsky impulsively wrapped his arms around him and hugged tight. “I love ya, Blintz.”
“I love you, too,” Hutch responded, blushing furiously now, “but people are gonna get the wrong idea here.”
“Who cares? We’re never gonna see ’em again.”
“True,” Hutch said, laughing, and returning the hug so tightly that Starsky gasped. “C’mon,” he said, releasing him finally let’s go boating.”
They passed the rest of the afternoon on the boat ride and looking for a good place to eat dinner. After their meal and a quick trip back to their hotel for Hutch’s guitar, they found themselves in front of Joe’s Place, just as the evening crowd was beginning to show up. Hutch wanted to say good-bye to Joe, and both men wanted to thank the tavern owner. Although Joe had enabled Hutch in many ways, to use the jargon of the rehab center, the job he’d offered Hutch had provided some structure to a life that was otherwise completely out of control, and had given him a safe place to play his music, and a way to stay sane. Hutch firmly believed that he would have probably ended up dead if not for Joe, and Starsky did not disagree with that opinion.
They walked in together and quickly spotted Joe near the back talking to a waitress. Hutch looked so different that no one recognized him as they made their way through the patrons, though there were no doubt plenty of Keith David fans in the place. “Joe?” Hutch interrupted.
Joe turned and narrowed his eyes at the blond. It took a second for him to recognize his employee. “Keith? Keith is that you?” Joe grinned and grabbed Hutch by the shoulders, pushing him back a little. “Let me get a look at you. I can’t believe it! You look fantastic!”
“Thanks, Joe. I owe it all to this guy here. I think you met him? Dave Starsky?”
“We met. You did a great job, Dave.”
“Hu…I mean Keith did all the work,” Starsky replied, “not me. I’m real proud of him.”
“Joe,” Hutch said then, “I came by tonight to thank you for everything you did for me this past year, and to say good-bye. Starsky and I are leaving tomorrow night. I’m going home.”
Joe smiled ruefully. “I was kind of hoping when you walked in with that guitar that you were planning to come back to work, but I’m glad you’re better, and real glad you’re going home, if that’s what you want.” He didn’t ask where home was, probably realizing that Hutch had deliberately not mentioned the town.
“It is what I want, Joe, but I’d enjoy playing a little farewell performance tonight if you want me to. It’s up to you.”
“Are you kidding? Let’s go.” Joe dragged Hutch by the arm toward the little platform and microphone in the corner of the tavern, with Starsky trailing behind. Once at the mike, Joe spoke to the crowd. “My friends, lots of you have been asking me for weeks when Keith David would be back to play for us again. Tonight, I can finally answer that question, because here he is!” Starsky noted with amusement the rumble of conversation that went through the spectators as they realized that the blond stranger standing there was the man they’d been waiting for. “He’s gonna play for you tonight, but, I’m sorry to say, it’s going to be his farewell performance…” Some groans and soft boos greeted this announcement, “…since he’s going to be leaving us for fairer climes. For now, please enjoy our own Keith David!”
As Joe and Starsky retreated to lean against the wall, Hutch set up and began to play. As he watched, Starsky could hardly believe that the smiling, upbeat singer was the same man he’d listened to from the back corner of the bar six weeks before. Hutch sang some of the same songs as that night, but he interspersed them with livelier, fun numbers, and had the crowd laughing and clapping along with him in no time. “Damn, he’s good!” Starsky turned at Joe’s muttered words. “Wherever ‘home’ is, I hope he’s planning to pursue his music career. He could really be someone, I think. I tried a dozen times to get him to see a record producer while he was working for me, but he refused. Now that he’s doing so much better, maybe…”
“‘Fraid he’s already got a career, Joe, but I’ll pass along your advice,” Starsky smiled.
“He’s got a career?”
Since he and Hutch had agreed not to lie to Joe if he asked, Starsky had no qualms about pulling out his badge. “We’re cops.”
Joe’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Cops!?”
Starsky couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction. “Yep.”
“I need a drink.” Starsky laughed out loud as Joe moved off toward the bar, then turned his attention back to the music.
After Hutch had been singing for almost an hour he was beginning to show signs of fatigue, face wet with sweat, blond hair plastered to his forehead, causing Starsky to want him to stop even though he’d obviously been enjoying himself. Almost as if he could read his partner’s thoughts, Hutch paused to take a drink of water, then spoke into the mike, “Folks, I’ve really enjoyed myself here tonight. Hope you all feel the same…” The crowd clapped and cheered in response, and Hutch grinned. “I think my voice is about to give out on me here, so I wanted to say a few more things before I do one last number for you.” Groans and boos ensued. “I see a lot of familiar faces out there, and I want to thank all of you for your support and business over these past few months. I especially want to thank Joe, for giving me a chance to play for you all.” Hutch’s eyes sought out the bartender, who had returned some minutes before to stand beside Starsky again. “I owe him a lot and I’ll never forget him.” Joe raised a hand in acknowledgment and the crowd clapped again. “Standing beside Joe there is my best friend, Dave Starsky. I’d like to dedicate this last song to him. He’ll know why. It’s called, ‘You Needed Me.’ Eyes fixed on his partner’s face Hutch began to sing, the clear voice filling the room, the words penetrating directly to Starsky’s heart,
I cried a tear, you wiped it dry,
I was confused, you cleared my mind,
I sold my soul, you bought it back for me,
And held me up and gave me dignity,
Somehow you needed me.
You gave me strength to stand alone again,
To face the world out on my own again,
You put me high upon a pedestal,
So high that I could almost see eternity,
You needed me, you needed me.
Hutch sang from his heart and his soul, and the crowd was mesmerized by the feelings he conveyed as he sang. But Hutch and his partner were oblivious to their reaction. Blue eyes locked with blue, they might have been alone in the room, so strong was the electricity and love flowing between them. Starsky had heard the song a thousand times before and liked it, but now it seemed as though it had been written especially for them, especially for what they’d gone through together and accomplished together. Both pairs of eyes were bright with tears, and Starsky was having trouble breathing around the lump in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort.
And I can’t believe it’s you, I can’t believe it’s true,
I needed you and you were there,
And I’ll never leave, why should I leave, I’d be a fool,
‘Cause I finally found someone who really cares.
You held my hand when it was cold,
When I was lost, you took me home,
You were my hope when I was at the end,
And turned my lies back into truth again,
You even called me friend.
You gave me strength to stand alone again,
To face the world out on my own again,
You put me high upon a pedestal,
So high that I could almost see eternity,
You needed me, you needed me.
You needed me, you needed me.
“And I need you, too,” Hutch whispered into the mike during the momentary hush that followed his last notes, just before the crowd rose to their feet in a standing ovation, clapping loudly.
Speechless, Starsky could only nod at his partner, and swipe at the tears on his cheeks with a trembling hand, as Hutch left the platform and moved toward him through the people, who called congratulations and patted him on the back as he went. Once at his destination, Hutch wrapped his arms tight around his friend. “Thanks, buddy,” Starsky murmured in his ear. “I think that was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.” He took a big breath and pulled away so he could see Hutch’s face, lifting his left hand to lightly caress the back of Hutch’s sweaty neck. “You ready to go home now?”
Hutch took a breath of his own. “Yeah, partner, I’m ready.” He turned to give a quick hug to Joe, then, without another word, he and Starsky left the bar together.
***
Starsky opened his eyes after a futile attempt at a nap to look at the man sitting next to him. They had only another few minutes to go before landing in LA, and Hutch had scarcely spoken a word during the entire flight. The blond looked tired, as well he might, after tossing restlessly all through the night before. Starsky wasn’t surprised, and didn’t push at Hutch about it. After all, how could he expect Hutch to react otherwise; heading toward a city he’d once called home, and a group of people he’d once called friends, with no idea whatsoever how he’d be received. He wouldn’t really find out for another forty-eight hours either, if all went as planned. So far, the fact that Ben Forest and Warden Jack Matthews had been secretly indicted by the Grand Jury, as well as the fact that Hutch had been found alive, had not leaked to the press. Everyone involved had high hopes the situation would stay that way, although Forest was being closely monitored in case he did find out and try to leave the country. All of that meant that Hutch’s homecoming would be a quiet, private one for now, which was probably good, but also left him wondering still how everyone was going to react to him.
When the bells rang to signal the final approach to LAX, Starsky noticed Hutch’s hands clench tightly on the arms of his seat. “How ya doing, buddy?” he inquired softly.
“I’m scared, Starsk,” Hutch replied honestly.
“I know, but it’s gonna be okay, Blintz. Really.” Starsky believed that, but he knew Hutch wouldn’t, not until he saw for himself. Still, Hutch nodded, took a deep breath, and lifted his chin bravely, causing his companion to feel a surge of pride in his chest. He only wished Hutch could see the same courage in himself that Starsky did, instead of continuing to chastise himself for not being able to kick his habit on his own. Hutch had made progress toward that goal in therapy, but still had a way to go.
The landing was smooth, and within minutes they emerged from the jetway into the bustle of LAX, Hutch’s identity lightly disguised by a baseball cap and dark glasses. Hutch’s body was tense and he glanced about nervously as they made their way to the baggage check. Starsky carefully, but discreetly, moved closer to his partner so that their arms touched, hoping that would make Hutch feel more secure in what had to be a terrifying environment under the circumstances. He was surprised and heartened when Hutch felt safe enough to stay at the curb with the luggage while Starsky went to get the car, but worried when Hutch appeared so out of it that he didn’t react to Starsky pulling up to him until he emerged from the car and called to him. Hutch stared at the vehicle in astonishment. “Starsky, what the hell is this?”
“Oh, yeah,” Starsky had to chuckle at himself for not realizing that Hutch would not recognize the copper Bonneville he now drove. “This is my car, dummy.”
“This?” Hutch circled the car slowly. Even through the sunglasses, Starsky saw him narrow his eyes accusingly as he approached the driver. “Starsky, did you wreck the Torino?”
“No, of course not. I just sold it.”
“You’re lying. You’d never sell that car. You had an accident didn’t you. I always knew…”
“Hutch, really,” Starsky did not like where the conversation was going, and wanted to end it before it got there, “it was gettin’ too old for police work, so I sold it, okay?”
“Starsk, you really expect me to believe that?”
Starsky sighed in defeat. “It just wasn’t any fun anymore, okay?”
“Oh.” Hutch looked down at the ground for a moment, then silently began putting their suitcases into the back seat. He didn’t speak again until they were sitting in the car. “Starsk?” he said softly then, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, huh? It was just a car.”
“Yeah.”
“Hutch,” Starsky turned and gripped Hutch’s shoulder. “It was a car. All that really matters is that you’re back, and alive, and we’re gonna make a new start together. It don’t matter what we’re driving in. Right?”
Hutch smiled a little and his voice held a little more conviction when he answered this time. “Right.”
Starsky nodded with satisfaction, and headed away from the airport, toward home.
***
Hutch watched avidly out the window as Starsky drove toward his apartment. It was a strange feeling, in many ways like he’d been gone for years, in other ways as familiar as if he’d never left at all. He glanced over at Starsky, who was concentrating on the traffic, and felt a pang of guilt. It hurt more than he would have ever imagined that his friend had sold the Torino. Their many hours of therapy had focused mostly on Hutch’s issues, but they had occasionally talked about Starsky’s ordeal as well, and Dr. Sprague had emphasized to both of them that their ongoing work in Los Angeles would need to include helping with his recovery as much as Hutch’s. Impulsively, Hutch reached over and patted Starsky’s shoulder. “It’s good to be home,” he said, when Starsky responded by turning toward him. He was rewarded by a big grin, and felt a little better.
Once they arrived at their destination, Hutch was initially distracted from his introspection by the business of carrying in the suitcases. Starsky had not even been willing to discuss his staying anywhere else for the time being, and he was relieved to see that someone, Huggy probably, had rented a roll-away bed for him. It was easy enough to sort out where to put things; he’d lived at Starsky’s full-time for over a month while his partner had recovered from his gunshot wounds, and the same nooks where he’d stored his things before still worked fine. Only after they’d put things away did Hutch take the time to look around, noticing for the first time the profusion of very familiar, and amazingly healthy plants that dotted the apartment. “Starsk,” he croaked around the lump in his throat, “you kept my plants?”
Starsky turned from his unpacking to shrug. “I couldn’t just throw ’em away,” he explained, looking a little sheepish. “I woulda felt like a murderer, so I kept what I could fit in here, and gave the others to some of our friends. I bet we can get most of ’em back, too,” he added brightly, “after you get settled in your own place again.”
If I ever can afford one, Hutch thought bleakly. “Well, they look great, pal. You took real good care of them. Thank you.”
“No big deal.” Looking embarrassed again, Starsky turned back to his unpacking as Hutch, very touched by his friend’s caring, wandered around to each of his “babies,” murmuring greetings to them and carefully pruning off old leaves. As he checked out a small pot on the bookshelves, he noticed some new additions to the collection, textbooks in Criminal Psychology and, what the hell, Geology?
“Starsky, what are these books for?” he called.
His friend turned away from the dresser drawer he’d been filling and walked slowly over to Hutch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Uh, Hutch, I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but it’s never really been the right time,” he said tentatively.
“What?” Hutch asked apprehensively.
Starsky took a deep breath. “Well, you know how I told you that I still had your stuff in storage ’cause your estate hadn’t been settled yet?”
“Yeah?” Hutch had been relieved to know that. Once he’d been able to think clearly enough to worry about such mundane matters, he’d been very glad to find out he wasn’t going to have to pay back thousands of dollars to his pension fund or insurance companies.
“Well, Sam came to visit me one night after you’d been missing for quite a while. He’d just started all the court stuff, but he thought he shouldn’t wait until everything was official for this one thing.”
“What one thing?”
“You know.” Starsky was having a hard time meeting Hutch’s eyes. “The letter. He gave it to me.”
“What let… Oh, my God!” Hutch clamped his hand over his open mouth and turned away. “Oh, Starsk. I never meant… Oh, God.”
He felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, Hutch. It was beautiful. And it helped me a lot, really.”
Hutch turned and looked into Starsky’s eyes, saw the love shining there, and reached out to draw him into a hug. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Starsky returned the embrace for a moment, then pulled back to look at Hutch. “The letter was wonderful, Hutch,” he said softly. “It meant a lot to me. And it helped me get myself together and move on. That’s why I’ve got those books. I decided to take your advice and …”
“Advice from the grave,” Hutch interrupted bitterly.
“Aw, Hutch, I thought so at the time, yeah. But it was still the right advice. The insurance thing hadn’t been settled yet, of course, but I decided to get started on my degree anyway and signed up for a couple of classes. I took the Geology class this summer, finished it right before I found you. This is nothin’ for you to feel bad about, Hutch. It was a good thing. I plan to take another class once winter comes, too.”
Hutch nodded and tried to smile. He could hardly imagine what Starsky must have gone through when he’d read that letter, but he was glad it had helped. “Did you enjoy the classes?”
“Yeah, a lot,” Starsky’s tone was enthusiastic, and it raised Hutch’s spirits even more. “Dobey let me work my schedule around the courses and I did pretty well. I never knew rocks and stuff were that interesting. I got an “A” in both classes,” he added proudly.
Hutch smiled for real. “I always knew you could do it.”
“Uh, look, Hutch, we may as well get all this mushy stuff over with at once, don’t you think so?”
“There’s more?” Hutch was apprehensive.
“Not too much. It’s just that I, uh, I kept some of your stuff. Now, I’m gonna give it back, okay?”
“Okay,” Hutch whispered. “What did you keep?”
“Just a few things. I’ll get ’em. You wait on the couch.”
Hutch moved shakily to the couch and sat down, then struggled not to break down completely as Starsky quietly brought the treasured items over to him, one by one. Both men’s eyes were wet by the time Starsky placed Ollie into Hutch’s lap. “Starsk…” Hutch choked.
“It’s okay,” Starsky managed in a voice equally strained. “Just one more thing.”
Hutch closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them to see Starsky approaching with his guitar in hand. It was too much. “Oh, Starsk,” he said, hiding his head in his hands. He felt Starsky sit beside him and place the beloved instrument against his knees, then wrap an arm around his shoulders. He turned and buried his face against his partner’s shoulder and the other arm came around him and hugged him tight.
“It’s okay now,” Starsky rasped. “You’re home and it’s all gonna be okay.”
***
Hutch paced anxiously across the living room, trailing smoke from his cigarette as he went. Starsky didn’t blame him for being nervous, since Dobey and Alec were due any minute, and it would be Hutch’s first encounter with anyone in LA who knew what had happened. That didn’t make it any easier to watch however, and he was finding it hard to resist the temptation to grab his friend and shove him into a chair.
The afternoon had actually gone pretty well. They had held each other and cried for a long time after Starsky had shown Hutch the things he’d kept, but, after that, an exhausted Hutch had relaxed enough to nap for a couple of hours. Dobey’s impending arrival to discuss the plans for Forest’s arrest the following day had unnerved him again, however, and the pacing had been going on for at least a half hour.
Hutch stiffened at the sound of a car passing by. “Hey, partner, relax,” Starsky soothed, walking over to the blond and patting his back lightly. “Both these guys are on your side…and Dobey’s missed you almost as much as I have, don’t forget.”
“I don’t see how Dobey’s gonna even be able to stand to look at me after all the stuff I did. I stole money, Starsky!”
Starsky had to take a deep breath to keep from responding angrily to Hutch’s self-deprecating remarks. According to Dr. Sprague, Hutch was doing well with rebuilding his self-esteem, considering what he’d been through, but was likely to be battling feelings of guilt and shame for years to come. Especially for the first few months, his recovery was sure to be marked with roller-coaster ups and downs, she’d warned. “Take it easy, Blondie,” Starsky finally replied. “Number one, you gotta remember that no one knows the gory details except you ‘n me. Number two, you know you were a victim of torture and imprisonment…your reactions fit that profile a lot more than the profile of an addict. The stuff you did wasn’t your fault. And Dobey knows that.” Starsky sighed. “I just wish you did.”
Hutch shook his head. “I’m trying, Starsky, I really am.” He wearily stubbed out his cigarette and left it in the already full ashtray.
“I know, Blintz. And you’re doin’ pretty good most of the time.” Both men turned toward the door at the sound of a car pulling up.
“Oh, God,” Hutch moaned when they heard doors slam.
“It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see in a minute.”
Despite his assurances, Starsky could see that Hutch was trembling slightly as they waited for their visitors to mount the stairs. Starsky moved to the door and opened it just as the captain was raising his hand to knock. “Hi, Cap, Alec,” he greeted them.
“Starsky,” Dobey responded, moving past him into the apartment. “Where’s…Hutch!” At the sight of the blond, Dobey grinned delightedly, then moved forward to wrap his arms around him. “Damn, son, it’s good to see you!”
Starsky motioned Alec inside, then stood beside him, anxiously watching the reunion. Hutch looked surprised, then pleased as he closed his eyes in relief and relaxed in the affectionate embrace. After a few moments Dobey released the other man and stepped back, pulling out a handkerchief that he swiped across his eyes, then used to blow his nose. “Sorry,” he said gruffly. “Seems like I’m catching a cold or something.”
“Gee, I’m sorry to hear that,” Starsky said, moving up to stand beside his superior.
Dobey looked back to Hutch. “How are you doing, son?”
Hutch managed a quavery smile. “Okay, I guess. I, it’s good to see you, Captain. I’m sorry about everything…”
“Ben Forest is the one who’s going to be sorry,” Dobey said fiercely. “Which is exactly what we need to talk about. You got any beers, Starsky?”
Starsky smiled, pleased at how Dobey was handling things. He was glad he’d warned the captain about Hutch’s continuing feelings of guilt. He knew that Dobey felt as strongly as he did that Hutch had nothing to be ashamed of, and could see that he was trying his best to communicate that to his skittish partner. “Sure do, but let me do some introductions first at least.” Glancing at Alec, Starsky could tell that he was nearly as nervous as Hutch. He almost chuckled, feeling like a double mother hen. “Ken Hutchinson, this is Alec Saunders.”
Alec quickly held out his hand toward Hutch. “I’m really glad to meet you, Hutch. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Alec. Starsky’s told me a lot about you, says you’re a hell of a cop.”
Alec smiled in genuine pleasure at the praise.
“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky interrupted, wanting to keep things light. “You weren’t supposed to tell him that. He’s gonna get a swelled head.” The ploy worked, eliciting laughs all around. “Sit down, all. I’ll get the beers.”
By the time he returned from the kitchen with the bottles, Dobey and Alec were already busy discussing how the arrest would be handled with a relatively calm Hutch. Starsky felt the knot of tension that had taken up residence in his gut loosen a little at the sight. One major hurdle cleared, he thought happily. We’re gonna make it to that finish line, Hutch, he silently promised his partner. I know it still seems far away to you, but we’re gonna make it.
***
“Hello, Forest.”
Ben Forest’s head shot up at the sound of the voice. It was his worst nightmare come true when he found Ken Hutchinson standing on the other side of his desk, staring at him with eyes icy with hate.
Where the hell is Taylor? The man was supposed to be his bodyguard. “Uh, Hutchinson,” Forest stammered, “how, how did you get in here. You, you’ll never get away with this…”
In a deliberately obvious move, Hutch reached into the left side of his jacket with his right hand. “No!” Forest yelled, dropping behind his desk.
Hutch’s mouth formed a smile, but there was no humor in it. “Scared I’m gonna shoot you, Forest?” he asked, pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “Don’t worry, it’s only a warrant for your arrest.”
“A warrant?” Forest climbed to his feet, feeling his confidence return rapidly. “Very funny. You actually expect me to believe you have some sort of official paper there? Maybe you’re high on junk. Maybe you’re fantasizing that you’re still a cop, huh?”
“Actually, he’s helping us out with our job.” Forest’s throat tightened in fear when Sgt. David Starsky stepped through the door, followed by a younger man Forest didn’t recognize. If anything, Starsky’s eyes were more frightening than the blond’s had been.
“This is crazy. You can’t possibly be considering arresting me.”
“Wanna bet?” Starsky held up a pair of handcuffs, his eyes glinting malevolently.
Forest turned back to glare at Hutch. “I’ll tell them everything, Hutchinson, I swear. Everything.”
“I hope so,” Hutch replied coolly. “That’ll make it pretty easy to get a conviction.”
“You’re not serious. You’ll destroy your own future. Everyone will know what you are.”
No one else would have noticed the slight flinch Hutch gave at those words, but Starsky did. “Everyone will know that he’s a good cop who was kidnapped and tortured on your orders, Forest. That’s what they’ll know,” Starsky said. He moved to Forest and shoved him against the wall behind them. “Spread ’em.” Starsky quickly frisked him, then roughly pulled his arms behind his back and cuffed him. “Alec,” he called to the younger officer, “You ‘n Hutch watch the bodyguard, will ya? I’ll take care of movin’ this piece of garbage.”
As Hutch and Alec left the room, Starsky first shoved Forest toward the door, then roughly jerked him back again so that his back was against Starsky’s shoulder. “Forest, look at me,” Starsky ordered into his ear in a voice seething with rage. Forest turned fearfully. “You remember the last time we talked, in the prison?” Forest nodded, afraid of what the detective might do if he angered him further. “I promised you that if I found out that you’d hurt Hutch, I’d make you pay, one way or another.” Although his voice was soft, it was the most frightening sound Forest had ever heard. “I always keep my promises, slime, so when you’re discussin’ what to do about your defense with that high-priced lawyer of yours, I’d advise you to remember that. Because if the judge and jury don’t make you pay, I will, Forest. Promise.”
Forest forced himself to meet the hard gaze of the detective for another moment before he turned away and stumbled toward the door. He suddenly felt very old, and very scared. He knew the truth when he heard it. This time he would pay.
***
Starsky stirred restlessly, then opened his eyes when he realized he smelled cigarette smoke. A glance at the clock told him it was 3:30 a.m. Damn! He got quietly to his feet and moved to the entrance to the bedroom, able to locate his partner immediately in the darkness when he spotted the orange glow of a cigarette near the dinette table. Poor Hutch. Starsky had hoped he’d be exhausted enough by the events of the day to sleep through the night, but he’d known that expectation was probably overly optimistic.
Arresting Forest had proved to be more satisfying for Starsky than for his partner, especially since the capture had meant the end of Hutch’s anonymity. The news of Forest’s arrest, along with that of Warden Matthews, had been the number one story in every paper and on every newscast. The information about Hutch that accompanied those stories had been as carefully controlled as possible by the Department, but the fact was that Hutch’s addiction to heroin was now public knowledge, and.his partner was going to have to deal with that in one way or another for the rest of his life.
Starsky had reread the paragraph in the evening paper so many times that he had it memorized. “Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson, the victim of the alleged kidnapping plot, was found alive several weeks ago by his partner, Detective Sergeant David Starsky. He learned that Detective Hutchinson had been kidnapped and held captive for a three month period by men who were allegedly in the employ of crime-boss Ben Forest. During his captivity, Detective Hutchinson was forcibly addicted to narcotics as part of a bizarre revenge plot, reportedly designed to punish Hutchinson for contributing to Forest’s arrest four years before. Although he was released by his kidnappers some months ago, Hutchinson continued to suffer from residual drug problems until being found by his partner, after which he entered a drug rehabilitation center. Now drug free, the officer is awaiting a decision regarding his return to duty pending physical and psychological tests.”
That paper had stuck to the information in the press release, for which Starsky was grateful. If most of the media avoided further sensationalizing of the story, Starsky agreed with the Department Public Relations Officer that it would soon be forgotten by the majority of the public. In fact, they hoped there would be no public outcry about it at all, since the Warden’s participation in the case made Hutch much more clearly a victim. Reactions of other officers, Department officials, and criminals remained more of an issue, and Starsky knew that Hutch was still very worried about how they would respond to his attempt to return to the streets.
“Hey, Blondie,” Starsky called softly across the room.
Hutch gave a start, then turned and moved toward him, a tall, slim shadow in the dimness. “Did I wake you?” he asked. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s no problem, Hutch. You havin’ a rough night, buddy? Got a headache?”
When there was no immediate answer, Starsky reached over and switched on the lamp. Hutch blinked in the sudden light, then rubbed his eyes with his fingers and thumb. The familiar gesture indicated deep distress, and even behind the hand, Starsky could see the strain in his partner’s features.
Heart aching for his friend, Starsky reached out and gently grasped Hutch’s wrist, pulling the hand away. “Come sit down, Hutch. Talk to me.” He led the unresisting Hutch to the couch, where they sat down next to each other. “Hutch?” Starsky prompted.
“I don’t know if I can do it, Starsk,” Hutch said in a thin voice. “Every-everyone knows. They’re gonna think… What are they gonna think?”
“Hutch…”
“Maybe this is a mistake, Starsky. Maybe it’s crazy to try to come back. If I went to a different city, where no one knows me…”
“Hutch, Hutch, listen to me, okay?” Starsky massaged the back of Hutch’s neck for a moment, then used the same hand to gently turn Hutch’s face toward him. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Hutch’s mouth twisted nervously. “I’m listening.”
“Good. Look, if leaving town is what you really want to do, then that’s what we’ll do. But do it for you, Hutch, not for ‘them.’ You told me at the hospital that you wanted to come back here and be a cop. Has something changed that?” Starsky’s tone indicated genuine interest and concern, with no trace of accusation.
Hutch shook his head. “I still want that, I just…How can they trust me?”
“I trust you.”
“I know.” Hutch smiled tenderly and brushed his fingers lightly down Starsky’s arm.
“Look, Hutch, I can’t predict how everybody in the world is gonna react to this. I’m sure there’s people out there who’ll be bothered by it, or use puttin’ you down as a way to make them feel good. But I truly believe that the people who really know you are at least gonna give you the benefit of the doubt. They’ll know the same as I did and Dobey did that what happened to you wasn’t your fault. Those people are gonna stand by you, and want you to have a chance to prove yourself. And, as far as I’m concerned the other ones don’t matter.” Starsky paused to let the words sink in, softly rubbing Hutch’s shoulder with the tips of his fingers. “You say go and we go, Hutch, but I think you need to give yourself a chance to prove yourself first, and give them a chance, too. I think it was a mistake that we kept what happened a secret the first time. I think we’re gonna be pleasantly surprised how many of ’em come through for us.”
“You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Sure do. Course you don’t have to prove anything to me, or Dobey.”
“But I do to the Review Board.”
“True, but you’ll do it, and they’ll come to the right conclusion.”
“You have a lot more faith in the system than I do, buddy.”
“I’ve got more faith in you than you do. Which is why I hope you’ll give it a try. You deserve to get that faith back, Hutch. And I’ll be there to help you every step of the way.”
Hutch chuckled softly, then reached out and ruffled Starsky’s already sleep-tousled curls. “I’m counting on that, partner.”
Starsky brightened. “Does that mean you’re gonna try?”
“Yeah, I’ll try.”
***
Starsky leaned back against the side of the Bonneville, tapping his foot nervously as he watched for Hutch to come out of the building. He hoped that the rest of the morning had gone as well for his partner as the beginning had. The major reaction to Hutch’s initial stroll through the precinct had been wonderful, with most of their friends, and even acquaintances, welcoming Hutch happily, expressing surprise and delight that he was alive and well. While it was true that a few people had appeared a little distant, and that some of the initial comments were a bit awkward, all in all things had been great, and Hutch had appeared immensely relieved.
With that obstacle cleared, however, Hutch’s anxiety of the night before had returned as he’d headed off for his first of several interviews for the day. Fortunately, there was a lunch break in the schedule, allowing for Starsky to catch up with his friend, and do some cheerleading if necessary.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself.” Starsky checked Hutch out carefully as he approached. His partner still looked tired after his sleepless night, but nothing in his walk or expression indicated disaster. “How’d it go?”
Hutch shrugged. “Okay, I guess. It’s hard to talk about this to a bunch of strangers, and they haven’t said much yet, but I think I did all right.”
“I’m sure you did. Are you hungry?”
“No, but I guess I should eat something.”
“Right. I made arrangements for Alec to meet us at The Pits, but only if you’re up for it. It’s okay with me if you’d rather go someplace where we’ll be left alone.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m anxious to see Huggy.”
“He’ll be surprised to see you,” Starsky said with a grin. “I didn’t tell him we were comin’.”
Starsky reflected that the morning must have gone really well, because Hutch smiled tiredly. “That’ll be fun. Let’s go.”
***
They arrived at The Pits ten minutes later and, after hurriedly planning their entrance in the car, sauntered in as if nothing strange had happened since the last time they’d been there together more than a year before. “Afternoon, Hug,” Starsky greeted the bartender casually as the pair strolled past the bar.
“Afternoon, Starsky,” Huggy replied automatically, barely glancing up. His double-take following that brief look was worthy of Jack Benny. “Hutch!?”
He was out from behind the bar with his arms wrapped around the blond before either detective knew what was happening.
Avidly watching the happy reunion, Starsky did not notice Alec approaching until he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Looks like you made Huggy’s day,” Alec commented, smiling broadly.
“Yeah.” Starsky grinned, and Alec felt an unexpected lump in his throat at the sight. In all their months of partnership, he’d seen Starsky smile many times, even laugh, but he’d never seen that ear-splitting expression of pure joy.
“I’ve, uh, I’ve got a table over there.” Alec indicated the spot with a wave of his hand.
Hutch had escaped Huggy’s embrace by that time and Starsky was pleased to see a sincerely happy expression on his face. “I told him to bring us some root beers,” the blond reported, with a twinkle in his eyes. “I’ve got more interviews this afternoon.”
“Yeah, it probably wouldn’t do to come to those smellin’ like a brewery, would it?” Starsky was just beginning to make cautious attempts at joking about what had happened.
“Probably not,” Hutch replied dryly. Starsky combined a slap on Hutch’s back with a push toward their table. This day was going even better than he’d hoped.
Lunch was pleasant, with Alec and Starsky reporting on the DA’s interviews with Forest’s lawyers, and Hutch giving a brief account of his interviews, punctuated by periodic visits from Huggy. While waiting for sundaes to arrive after their sandwiches, Starsky took a break to go to the men’s room, leaving Alec and Hutch alone at the table. After a moment of awkward silence, it was Hutch who spoke first. “I’m glad to get the chance to talk to you alone for a minute, Alec.”
“Yeah?” Alec was surprised and a little apprehensive. He was finding it hard to deal with the fact that Hutch was back in person, after riding with his ghost in the car beside him for so many months.
“First, I want you to know that I appreciate that this must be kind of hard on you. Starsk has told me that the two of you worked real well together. I imagine my coming back has disrupted things for you, made things difficult. I’m not sorry to be back, of course, but I am sorry for what it’s doing to you.”
Alec was instantly disarmed by Hutch’s frankness. He’d been fighting his feelings of resentment, thinking them selfish. It felt good to have them acknowledged, especially by Hutch. “It is a little hard,” he admitted gratefully, “but I’m not sorry you’re back either. Dave is a great partner, but I want him to be happy. He never really was, all those months we rode together, but he is now. I’m very glad you’re here, Hutch.”
Hutch had visibly winced when Alec had talked about Starsky’s unhappiness, and Alec felt a surge of affection toward him, seeing how much he cared. “Thank you for that, Alec,” the blond said a little hoarsely. “And thank you for watching his back while I was…away. I owe you for that, more than I can ever repay. Just say the word if you ever need anything, and I’ll be there.”
Alec knew what that promise meant, and the lump reappeared in his throat. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m the one who was lucky. Dave’s a hell of a cop. I learned a lot.”
“I think he was lucky, too. And so does he.”
Embarrassed by how emotional he was beginning to feel, Alec was saved from having to reply by the reappearance of the object of their conversation. “What are you two up to?” Starsky asked suspiciously.
“I was just congratulating Alec on managing to keep you out of trouble all this time,” Hutch said with a lift of his eyebrow. “Poor guy must be completely exhausted.”
“Trouble, moi?” Starsky asked in mock consternation. “I’m the one who’s exhausted. This kid was so wet behind the ears when I got him, I had to show him how to hold his gun right.”
Alec blinked, enjoying the banter, but feeling overwhelmed by it all. It was strange dealing with Hutch, but he was finding it even stranger dealing with Dave. He scarcely recognized this bubbly, joking man sitting across from him as the same person he’d been working with over twelve hours a day for almost a year. He remembered a time, early in their partnership, when he’d arranged to meet Starsky at The Pits and his partner had been delayed by something. While he was waiting he’d had a chance to talk to Huggy and had curiously asked the barkeep if he thought Starsky was doing all right. “He seems all right,” Huggy had responded hesitantly, “just different.” When pressed about the specifics, Huggy had shrugged. “I dunno,” he’d finally answered, “before, there was just a lot of little kid in Starsky. Now he’s all grown up.” Alec had never totally understood that comment until this moment. As if to emphasize the point, his attention was drawn back to his companions after he was struck in the cheek by a straw wrapper, blown across the table at him by the supposed grown-up.
“Hey, young partner,” Starsky laughed. “You in there somewhere?”
“Sorry,” Alec mumbled, bemused.
“Hey,” Hutch interrupted. “If he’s the young partner, what does that make me?”
“You’re a detective, you figure it out,” Starsky replied wickedly.
“Starsky, you are older than me, and you will always be older than me.”
“Age ain’t always measured by the calendar, Blondie.”
Alec basked in the warm feelings engulfing the little table. Welcome back, Blondie, he thought, and nice to meet you, little kid.
***
Hutch was actually so nervous that he wasn’t pacing, Starsky noted with concern, watching his partner who was slumped in a chair in Dobey’s office, eyes fixed on some spot on the wall, mind fixed on what was happening at the meeting of the Review Board. Close to three weeks of interviews, written and performance tests, physical examinations, and worry were all culminating at that moment in an office several miles away. As the object of that discussion, Hutch was not allowed to be there, but Dobey was, and would bring the results to them personally as soon as the decision regarding Hutch’s reinstatement was made. Starsky was glad they’d decided to wait in Dobey’s office, rather than outside the Board Room. Whatever the results, it would be better to hear them in relative private and in familiar surroundings.
Please, God, Starsky silently pleaded. He didn’t care for himself so much; he was comfortable with sticking with Hutch no matter what happened. He knew, though, that once he’d resolved to try, Hutch had concentrated every bit of energy he had on being prepared for whatever the Department had tried to throw at him, and that Hutch would interpret a denial of his reinstatement as a failure on his part, rather than as a failure of the system. After all his efforts, the last thing Hutch deserved was to feel like a failure.
“Hutch?” Starsky tried. “Hutch!” The blond finally looked up after the second attempt. “You’ve done a hell of a job these past couple of weeks. I’m real proud of ya, no matter what happens.”
“They’re not gonna let me back, Starsk, I know it.”
“Well, if they don’t, it’s their loss, partner. You’re ready to do the job. You and I both know it.”
Hutch sighed, then pushed himself to his feet and began to pace. As aggravating as Starsky usually found that habit, he preferred it to Hutch’s zombie-like staring. “Dobey should be here any minute,” Starsky said, after glancing at his watch. “They were scheduled to meet at nine, and it’s close to ten-thirty now.”
As if on cue, the hall door opened and Captain Dobey strode in, his expression serious. Uh-oh, Starsky thought, his heart sinking. He glanced at Hutch, who looked like he was awaiting a death sentence. “Well?” Starsky demanded.
Dobey looked searchingly at Hutch for a moment, then walked over to stand in front of him. Starsky immediately moved to Hutch’s side, standing so that their shoulders were touching slightly.
“It was a long and serious discussion, Hutch,” Dobey reported. “You passed all your written and performance tests with flying colors, but there were particular concerns from some members of the Board about your ability to psychologically handle any prolonged periods of stress, whether they might tempt you to ‘take the easy way out.’ Dr. Sprague’s written reports as well as the Department’s own psychologist were very supportive of your ability to resist those temptations…”
“But…” Hutch’s voice trembled slightly.
“But…” Starsky narrowed his eyes. Did he detect the hint of a smile on Dobey’s features?
“But,” the Captain continued, “they ordered me to provide them with written reports of your performance every month for the first six months that you’re back on duty anyway.” It didn’t take a detective to see the smile now, and Starsky felt a grin spread over his own face, though Hutch still looked shell-shocked. “Which means you better not screw up,” Dobey concluded. “Because you know how I hate extra paperwork!”
Hutch blinked, staring alternately at Dobey’s smiling face and at his partner’s. “You, you mean,” he stammered, “they, they, they…”
“They asked me to give you this,” Dobey said, gently now. He held out his hand. In it was an open ID wallet, with Hutch’s ID and a badge displayed.
Starsky held his breath as Hutch reached out and took the case, then just stood there for a moment with his eyes closed tightly. “Thank you,” he exhaled finally, opening them again.
“All right, Hutch!” Starsky could restrain himself no longer and hurled himself at his partner, grabbing him and hugging as hard as he could.
“Starsky,” Hutch laughed, “you’re killin’ me.” Starsky laughed himself at the sound, released Hutch and stepped back so that Dobey could take his turn at hugging the blond, whose smile was lighting up the room.
Impulsively, Starsky turned and jerked open the door to the squadroom. “Hey, everybody,” he yelled, “we’re back!”
The busy room erupted with cheers and applause, and Starsky dragged a blushing, but still smiling Hutch out into the room to receive handshakes and pats on the back from their colleagues, who, for the most part, had been unfailingly supportive since they’d heard what had happened.
Starsky stood back to enjoy the sight of his partner basking in the attention and found Alec at his side. “Congratulations, Dave,” he said warmly. “I’m really glad for both of you.”
“Thanks, young partner,” Starsky replied sincerely, grinning.
“Hey!” Dobey’s gruff voice interrupted the merriment as all eyes turned toward the captain, standing in the doorway to his office. “You think this is some sort of holiday for criminals or something? Get back to work! And by the way, welcome back, Hutchinson.” As Dobey shut the door, another round of cheers followed, which died down quickly as the rest of the officers settled back down at their desks.
“Hutch,” Alec said then, a little shyly, “in anticipation of good news, I, uh, did a little moving.” He gestured toward his and Starsky’s desks then, and both other officers’ eyes widened. While they’d been waiting in Dobey’s office, Alec had cleared his things from Starsky’s old desk, replaced them with Starsky’s, and taken Hutch’s from the drawer where they’d been stored. Even the plastic piggy bank was back in its old spot. Starsky recovered from the shock first, put his arms around Alec’s shoulder, and squeezed gently. “Thanks again. I wish I could have two partners, ya know.”
“Wish you could, too.” Alec said truthfully, “but things are gonna work out fine.”
Starsky nodded. Timing had provided a good answer to the dilemma of what to do with Alec. Craig Simmons was being promoted to Lieutenant at the beginning of the month, and Ed Babcock was happy to take Alec on as his new partner. Starsky turned to Hutch, who was still looking stunned. “So, Blintz, what do you think?”
Hutch just shook his head, and Starsky decided it would probably be a good idea to get him someplace quieter so he could take a little time to let things sink in. “C’mon, partner,” he said, grasping him by the upper arm. “We’d better head to R&I and tell Minnie the good news. If she finds out from someone else first, she’s gonna kill us.” Alec laughed at that, but Hutch just followed Starsky wordlessly into the hall, then to a nearby interrogation room. Shutting the door, Starsky turned to his friend, eyes shining with pride. “You did it, partner!”
Hutch took a deep breath. “We did it, partner. I, I can’t believe it!”
“Believe it, Sergeant. You’re a cop again.”
Hutch took another deep breath. “Starsk, I don’t know how I can ever thank…”
“I told ya before, buddy. I did it as much for me. You don’t need to thank me. Your bein’ here is all I want.”
Hutch regarded Starsky with great tenderness for a moment, then smiled, appearing to relax at last. “You mean, if I offered to buy you a prime rib, you’d turn it down?”
“Of course not,” Starsky grinned. “Are you offerin’?”
“Dinner tonight.” Hutch moved up to stand close to his partner, resting his hand on Starsky’s stomach briefly. “Guess we should go tell Minnie, huh?”
Starsky covered the hand with his own. “Yeah, partner, let’s go.” As he followed the now enthused Hutch out of the little room and down the familiar hallways, having to hurry to keep up with the blond’s longer stride, Starsky suddenly began to feel a little overwhelmed himself. He had been so focused on Hutch that he had not really taken time to deal with the triumphant end of his own ordeal. His eyes blurred with tears and he stumbled to a halt, feeling breathless.
It took Hutch a few seconds to realize he was no longer being followed, but once he did he returned quickly to his friend. “Starsky, what is it?” he asked worriedly, grasping a shoulder. “You okay?”
Starsky nodded. “Yeah, sure, I’m sorry. I, it just kind of hit me, Hutch. All these months I never….and it’s over. It’s hard to believe.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s almost scary, isn’t it? Everything working out so perfectly?”
“That’s it. It’s kind of scary. But in a wonderful way,” he added. “It’s just gonna take a little time to get used to it.”
Hutch nodded, still looking concerned. “Yeah, look, you wanna go someplace and talk some more?”
“No, no, Hutch.” The last thing Starsky wanted to do was spoil Hutch’s big day with his own inexplicable fears. He grinned. “Let’s go see Minnie.” He grasped Hutch’s arm, and this time he led the way.
***
“Ready for another beer, oh guest of honor?”
“Thanks, Hug. I’m still nursing this one,” Hutch answered with a smile. The interruption of his conversation gave him a chance to look around for Starsky. Once he spotted him, the concern he’d been feeling for the past few days was intensified, not relieved. His partner was sitting in a small group of officers, including Alec and Babcock, but did not appear to be enjoying himself. He was sitting quietly, not really taking part in the conversation, and looking distracted.
With an effort, Hutch resisted the temptation to go over and confront Starsky about what was bothering him. Now was not the time. His partner, Alec, and Dobey had worked hard to plan this welcome back to work party at The Pits, and he had no intention of ruining it, or of giving Starsky any other impression than that he was having the time of his life. Still, he resolved not to let this go on much longer. Ever since he’d gotten the news that he was being reinstated, something had not been right. Although he had said and done the right things, and claimed to be ecstatic, Starsky was not happy. Hutch doubted if anyone else had noticed, but to Hutch it was painfully clear that his friend was tired and tense. Repeated inquiries about it had only served to get Hutch snapped at a few times, and he had let things go at that for the time being, wanting to concentrate on getting off to a good start on the job, which he had. Tomorrow, he resolved, tomorrow, for sure, we’ll talk this out. Their first day off since he’d been back would be the perfect opportunity.
“Ken, where are you?”
“Huh?” Hutch turned back to Sharon, his pretty table companion.
“You look a million miles away.”
“Sorry,” Hutch replied with a smile, and went back to enjoying himself.
***
They made it home by two and Hutch fell asleep quickly, but woke again about four in the morning, needing to empty his bladder of the remains of several beers and more soft drinks. His attempt to sneak soundlessly back to his bed was interrupted by a soft query from his partner, “Hutch, you okay?”
All right, here we go, thought Hutch, changing directions to move to Starsky’s bed and perch on the edge of the mattress. “I’m fine,” he replied. “Just drank too much beer. The question is, what are you doing up?” He knew perfectly well that the slight noises he’d made in the bathroom would never have sufficed to waken Starsky under ordinary circumstances, especially considering that he had had several beers as well.
“I dunno. Just excited from the party, I guess,” came the answer out of the darkness.
“Can I turn on the light, pal?” Hutch asked. “I’d like to talk to you.”
“Sure, what’s the matter?”
Hutch switched on the lamp, then waited for a minute as their eyes adapted to the light. As Starsky sat up in bed, Hutch took a good look at his friend. Starsky looked terrible, he noted, eyes red and dark-shadowed, jaw tense. “Actually, I wanted to ask you that question,” Hutch said. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. What’s going on?”
Starsky shook his head and lowered his eyes. “Nothin’. Happens to everyone once in a while. You know that.”
“Not to you, unless something’s wrong. Starsk, c’mon now, you know it won’t do either of us any good for you to try to keep this inside. All these weeks you’ve never let me get away with anything like that. The doctors said things would pop up for both of us, and that we’d have to keep working at it for quite a while before we really got over everything that’s happened, right?”
Starsky still didn’t look up. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What is it? This all started about the time I got reinstated. Is it something about working together again that’s…”
“No!” Starsky’s head shot up, and Hutch was surprised to see fear in the troubled blue eyes. “Hutch, no, for God’s sake,” he said, almost desperately, “Working with you again is what I’ve wanted most in the world… You’ve gotta believe that!”
“I believe it, Starsk,” Hutch soothed, mentally berating himself for having waited so long to have this discussion. He couldn’t recall too many times in their friendship when he’d seen Starsky this upset. “Take it easy, huh?” Hutch reached out to lay a hand on Starsky’s arm and felt it trembling. Truly, he could not imagine what had his partner this overwrought. “It’s okay if something’s wrong, buddy. When you’ve been looking forward to something like that, it makes sense it might not live up to expectations.”
“Hutch, I swear, you’ve lived up to all my expectations. Don’t even think that you haven’t, please,” Starsky pleaded with him.
“Well, if it’s not that, what is it that’s got you so upset you’re not sleeping?”
“I…” Starsky began, then stopped. “It’s so silly, Hutch.”
“I doubt that,” Hutch said gently. “Tell me.”
“I, I’m scared to go to sleep. See? Silly.”
“Scared to go to sleep? Why?”
Starsky shrugged helplessly. “It’s not something that makes a lot of sense, even to me, but it’s like…I dunno.”
Hutch moved his hand from Starsky’s arm to his back and began to rub lightly. “Go on,” he encouraged.
“It’s like ever since you’ve been back, things are so great, like a dream.” Hutch remembered Starsky mentioning that before, in Chicago. “And when you were gone,” Starsky continued in a shaky voice, “all those months, it was like a nightmare. And there’s part of me that thinks that maybe one morning I’m gonna wake up and the dream’ll be over, and you’ll be gone and it’ll be the nightmare again. Like the last time. You went to get pizza and I fell asleep and I woke up and…” Starsky’s voice trailed off. “I’m sorry, Hutch. I’m bein’ a baby.”
“Aw, Starsk, c’mere.” Hutch moved further onto the bed so that he could pull Starsky close. His partner buried his face against Hutch’s shoulder as the blond continued to rub his back. “There’s nothing one bit silly about that, buddy. After what happened, those fears make perfect sense. But it’s okay, Starsk. It’s all okay now. I’m real, pal. I’m real and here and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” Hoping to get Starsky to talk more, he prompted, “It must have been awful for you while I was gone, huh? I know how much I missed you, and I knew you were alive and okay.”
“It was the worst feeling in the world, Hutch. Nothin’ was the same anymore, no matter what I did. I just felt all empty inside.”
“I’m sorry.” Hutch moved his hand up to massage the back of Starsky’s neck, pressing his head close to his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“But it’s you that really suffered! Don’t you see?” Starsky pulled roughly out of the embrace, then pushed at Hutch’s left arm to reveal the needle tracks. He rubbed his fingers along the scars gently. “I screwed up, Hutch,” he said hoarsely. “I couldn’t find you, and all that time you suffered for it. I don’t know why you want to work with me. I don’t know how you could ever forgive me.”
“Ah, Starsk, I had no idea you were feeling guilty about that. Don’t you think I know how hard you tried to find me?”
“So what? I didn’t. The most important case of my life, and I screwed up.”
Man, how did I miss this going on in his head? Starsk, listen, no one could have solved that case. It was too well-planned, and with the warden in on it, there was no way you could have done it.”
“No? I did eventually. Why didn’t I look at those phone records before?”
“Starsky, listen to me.” Hutch spoke firmly, looking directly into his partner’s anguished eyes, demanding his full attention. “You suspected Forest all along, and you were right. But there was no proof, not one shred of evidence. No judge would have ever let you subpoena those records based on your gut feeling, and you know it.”
Starsky shook his head.
“You know it. You did your best, buddy, against impossible odds. Sometimes when you have to work within the system there’s no way…”
“Well, there should have been.”
“Oh, like there should have been a way for me to protect you from Gunther’s hitmen?”
“Of course not. You couldn’t have known…”
“Exactly, and neither could you. Dammit, Starsk, you’re the best cop I know and the best friend a man could ever ask for. I don’t need to forgive you for not finding me ‘cause I never blamed you. And don’t forget, nine months of the time I was gone was a result of my decision. I didn’t want to be found.” Hutch gripped Starsky’s shoulder, fingers massaging the tight muscle. “You’ve worked so hard these past few weeks to convince me that Forest is the one to blame for all of this, instead of me. Guess you forgot to convince yourself of the same thing, huh?”
“I, I dunno.”
“Starsky, you remember what Dobey told us the Review Board was worried about, the day I found out I could come back?”
Starsky shrugged.
“They wondered about periods of prolonged stress, if I wouldn’t be tempted to ‘take the easy way out.’ Remember?”
Starsky nodded this time.
“It’s not surprising they would wonder about it. Why not? I was hooked, Starsky, an addict. I remember how good it felt, how it took all the worries away. But I’m not tempted, and I won’t be.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Hutch smiled tenderly. “And do you know why I won’t be?”
“Because you’re strong. You don’t need it.”
“No one’s that strong, Starsk, not alone anyway. When things get tough, we all need something. But I don’t need heroin, buddy. Because I’ve got you. You’re my strength, Starsk. When I feel tense, or scared, I look at you, and I know you’re there for me. I don’t need a drug to help me through as long as I’ve got you. So, don’t you ever feel like you’ve failed me, partner. You never have, and you never will.”
Starsky opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. Instead he screwed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that began to seep through the closed lids.
“It’s okay, Starsk. I’m here for you, too. Let it out.” Hutch pulled him close again. “Let it out, buddy. You’ve been so busy taking care of me, you’ve kept all your pain inside. You need to let it out.”
The gentle coaxing had the desired effect and opened the floodgates, as Starsky began to sob against Hutch’s shoulder. “That’s it, boy,” Hutch continued to encourage him. “That’s it. Let it out.”
They stayed that way for several minutes until Starsky’s sobs died down into sniffles. Still, Hutch held him tight. “I’m here, Starsk. I’m real. This isn’t a dream. I promise.”
“I, I guess I was feelin’ so scared ’cause I think I don’t deserve to have you back, ’cause I didn’t find you, you know?” Starsky murmured.
“Starsky, you have stood by me no matter what. You came after me and saved my life. Of course, you deserve to have me back.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so.”
“I love you, Hutch. I couldn’t stand it when you were gone.”
“I love you, too, Starsk. And we’re gonna talk about this more, in therapy, or whenever we have to, till we get all these feelings worked out. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“And there’s nothing in the world we can’t work out as long as we’re doing it together, right?”
Starsky slipped his arms around Hutch’s ribs and hugged him. “Right.”
“You think you can sleep now?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, then let’s get you tucked in.” Hutch let go of Starsky so he could lie down, pulling the covers up over him, then stroking the damp hair off his forehead. “I’m gonna sit here till you go to sleep, so you know I’m real, okay?”
‘”Kay.” Hutch smiled a little, thinking that he wouldn’t have too long to wait, since his exhausted partner already sounded halfway there.
In fact it was only a few minutes before Hutch could see from Starsky’s deep, even breathing that he was asleep. Returning to his own bed, he lay awake for some time thinking about the nightmares they’d both lived through, and about the love they shared that had once again conquered them. He had faith in the strength of that love, so much faith that, after all that had happened, he could face the future, their future, confident that they would be okay. It hadn’t been easy, coming back, and there would be hard times ahead. He knew that when things got tense, or when he was tired or scared, the siren call of the drug would be there, with all its promises of pleasure and relief. But he would resist that call, he had no doubt of it. Whatever that white powder might give him, it would take Starsky away. And that was a choice he would never make. “Me and thee, buddy,” he whispered into the darkness, then drifted into sleep, warmed by a love that was a high more powerful than any drug could ever give him. “Me and thee…”
***
“Okay, Starsk, just ease that corner down and…perfect! We’re all set.” Hutch stepped back, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, and surveyed the brass bed with satisfaction. “I gotta tell ya, buddy, having my own bed in my own place feels pretty damned good.”
Starsky walked around the bed to join his partner and slapped him lightly on the back. “Well, no offense, Blintz, but much as I’ve enjoyed your company the last few weeks, having you in your own bed in your own place feels pretty good to me, too. I’m sick and tired of not having enough hot water.”
Hutch chuckled. “I bet.” He took hold of Starsky’s shoulder and turned him toward the door of the bedroom. “Now that I’ve got a place to sleep, I say we call it a night. It’s almost…oh, man,” he gasped after glancing at his watch, “it’s almost one a.m. C’mon, let’s relax with a root beer, then get you outta here to your own bed. I can finish unpacking in the morning.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Starsky responded, rubbing at his left shoulder. “I’m getting too old for this moving stuff. Next time we hire somebody!” He sank down on the couch as Hutch headed for the refrigerator to fetch the drinks. Weeks of careful searching had paid off and both men were pleased with Hutch’s new place. It didn’t quite have the character of Venice Place, but the small condominium was light and airy, with a large balcony.
Returning from the kitchen, Hutch pressed a cold bottle of root beer into Starsky’s hand, then sat down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table with a sigh. “Ahhhh.”
Starsky smiled. “So, how does it feel?”
Hutch surveyed his new living room and nodded. “It feels good. I think it has real potential.”
“Yeah?” Starsky reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope which he held out to his friend. “I got a little housewarming gift for ya. Hopefully it’ll help fulfill the ‘potential’.”
“Thanks, pal, but you shouldn’t have. After everything you’ve done…”
“Hey, you get a new house, you should get a present. That’s the rule.”
“The rule, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I guess I can’t break the rule, so…” Hutch opened the envelope and took out the enclosed card. His mouth dropped open as he read it; it was a gift certificate for a small greenhouse to be constructed on his balcony. “P.S. The Condo Association already agreed,” was scrawled across the bottom of the certificate in Starsky’s handwriting. “Starsk, I-I can’t believe this, it’s great, but I can’t accept it. It’s way too much.”
“It isn’t too much, Hutch, really. It’s just a small one to start, but they’ll build it special so it can be expanded later. Besides, I did it for me, not you. How else am I gonna get all your orphan plants outta my place?”
Hutch read the card again, shaking his head, then moved down the couch to give his partner a hug. “Thanks, buddy. It’s a great present. A greenhouse…”
“You’re welcome, Blondie. Welcome home.”
Hutch nodded, pulling back a little to look at his partner with shining eyes. “It’s really good to be home, Starsk. All those months I didn’t think I’d ever be able to be home again, but here I am, thanks to you.”
“Hey, pal, it’s too late for getting mushy, don’t you think?”
“You’re right. Get yourself outta here so you can come back and help me in the morning.”
Starsky chuckled and got to his feet. “Right, I’ll buy donuts. I know you don’t have any, Mr. Macrobiotic Diet.”
“Hey, if you wanna die young, don’t let me stop you.”
Starsky was still chuckling as he let himself out the door, calling over his shoulder, “See ya!”
***
By the time he arrived home, Starsky was feeling stiff and sweaty and wanted nothing more than to take a shower and collapse in bed. He was so tired he almost ran into the shiny occupant of his driveway before it registered in his exhausted brain that it was even there. Once he’d braked to a sudden halt behind it, he sat there for a moment, staring in disbelief, then threw open his door and jumped out to stare again close-up. Gleaming in his headlights was a red Torino with a white stripe. No, he corrected himself as he circled the car, wide-eyed, my red Torino with a white stripe. There was no mistaking the pattern of small dings his beloved car had acquired over the years, each one a painful memory.
Arriving at the driver’s side door, he noticed a note taped to the inside of the window, written in bold black letters, “Hi, Starsk. Look in the glove compartment of the Bonneville.”
Starsky hurried to the Bonneville, opened the glove compartment, and found a sealed envelope, addressed to him in Hutch’s handwriting. Inside there was a set of keys and a note. He moved back to the Torino, opened the door reverently, and slid behind the wheel, then used the dome light to read the note he held in his shaking hands,
Dear Starsk,
I can never really repay you for giving me our life back, but I wanted you to have this gift as a small token of what I’m feeling, and to thank you, buddy. Thanks for giving me a choice.
I hope it’s fun again. I love you. Hutch
Still holding the note, Starsky leaned his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the scent of the car and the familiar feel of the seat. “I love you, too, Hutch,” he murmured. “Thanks for making the right one.”
***
Hutch sat on the edge of the bed, drumming his fingers on the mattress beside him. Starsky had been gone almost an hour already, and since it only took about twenty minutes to drive to his apartment, Hutch had expected him to call long ago. He didn’t know whether to be worried or angry; but was leaning toward worried, the circumstances of his own disappearance fresh in his mind. Surely something like that couldn’t happen again, but…His reach for the phone was interrupted by the sound of a car squealing to a halt in front of his building, followed by the slam of a car door, and feet pounding up the steps. His door was pounded on next. “Hey, Hutch,” Starsky’s voice called. “Open up!”
“Starsky, please,” Hutch hissed as he jerked open the door and pulled his partner inside. “There’s other people who live in this building who are probably trying to sleep, you know!”
“Who cares?” Starsky answered, grinning broadly. He was literally bouncing up and down with excitement where he stood, then suddenly reached out and grabbed Hutch in a tight hug, swinging him around and actually managing to lift the taller man’s feet off the floor. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he shouted, before finally releasing his captive.
“You’re welcome,” Hutch managed between gasps.
“C’mon,” Starsky said, grabbing Hutch’s wrist and pulling him toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Go where? It’s two in the morning and every muscle in my body hurts.”
“For a ride, of course. It’ll relax your muscles, and we can find an all night taco stand or somethin’ to get a snack at. That’s what a person needs after moving stuff all day. C’mon!”
“Starsky,” Hutch shook his head, “you are such a kid sometimes!” His tone was deliberately condescending as he delivered his token protest, but inside he was rejoicing at the sparkle in his friend’s eyes and the bounce in his step. It was exactly what he’d hoped for.
“So? C’mon!” Hutch resisted only slightly as he was pulled down the stairs and out into the fresh night air. Although he never would have admitted it, he felt an unexpected surge of happiness himself at the sight of the tomato. Huggy had handled the negotiations to buy it back so that Starsky wouldn’t suspect anything, and Hutch hadn’t seen the car himself till that moment. “Ah, Hutch, ain’t she beautiful?”
“Beautiful is not a word I’ve ever used to describe that car, Dirtball, and I’m not going to start now,” Hutch said dryly, grimacing in distaste.
He couldn’t hold onto the grimace though as Starsky turned to answer him and their eyes met over the roof of the car. Instead his lips curved into a tender smile, which Starsky returned. “It’s definitely fun again,” Starsky said softly. There was no need for further words; their eyes said all that was necessary. “Hop in, Blintz.”
Both men slid into the car. Feeling totally at home at last, Hutch slid his arm across the back of Starsky’s seat and smiled as he and his partner roared off into the night.
***
Starsky chewed on his lower lip for a moment, rubbed at his tense shoulders, then opened the door and went outside. It was. a warm night for the middle of January, the moon bright overhead. He glanced at his watch, seven o’clock exactly. The flash of headlights caught his attention as a car turned the corner onto his street. He grinned as the car drew closer and he recognized it. Right on time It was the first time in a year and a half that he’d even entertained the idea of eating a pizza, and it had taken a lot of arguing to persuade him to allow Hutch to go by himself to pick it up. “One more demon to be conquered, Starsk,” Hutch had told him. Well, Hutch had conquered most of his own, so it was about time they dealt with Starsky’s. He could smell the pizza as soon as Hutch got out of the car. Amazingly, it made his mouth water.
“So, what do you think?” Hutch asked as he loped up the steps.
Starsky’s grin widened. “I think it’s about time you got here. I’m starved”
“Ingrate,” Hutch muttered, as he walked past him and opened the door.
“Hutch?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
The End
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