A Hundred and Forty-Eight

Missing scene for “The Plague.”

Inspired by TS Eliot

Starsky has always been annoyed by Hutch’s cleaning habits. Or rather, his lack thereof. See, where Starsky grew up, you cleaned up after yourself. If you didn’t, Ma would throw a fit and threaten to kick you out on the street, where she said people who liked to live among trash belonged. It might have been funny if she hadn’t boxed your ears while doing the threatening. After a couple rounds with Ma, you started cleaning up after yourself without having to be told.

Starsky thinks Hutch’s devil-may-care attitude regarding neatness might be some sort of subconscious rebellion against the rules and restrictions he forces on himself all the time. Starsky’s never really understood why Hutch gets so worked up about his appearance and eats things that don’t taste too good (or doesn’t eat at all) – Hutch always looks just fine to him. He secretly suspects that sometimes, Hutch doesn’t really know why, either. But rebellious subconscious or not, it’s still irritating every time his partner throws another coffee cup into the backseat. When they first started riding together, Starsky would clean the trash out of the Torino every night, but that got old real fast when the same collection of crushed cups would appear, day after day. Since then, he only does it every other week, or when it gets to where you can’t see the floor.

Hutch tosses another cup over his shoulder, and Starsky can’t take it anymore.

“This does happen to be my car.”

“You oughta clean out the back, it’s a mess!”

“Got that way because of you throwing your coffee cups in there.”

Silence. Starsky thinks Hutch might be annoyed with him, but then, he’s not feeling too hot about Hutch right now either. Normal people just don’t act like the world is their trashcan. It’s not decent.

Hutch doesn’t throw any more cups the rest of the day. Of course, the thermos is in the trunk, so Hutch doesn’t really have any opportunity, but Starsky doesn’t think of that. He’s just pleased that he’s won.

Then, Hutch gets sick.

Every time Starsky gets in the Torino, he sees the collection of litter in the back, unchanging in its size and shape. Starsky wishes he didn’t have to drive around alone.

He rides with Huggy for a little while, and has even dug the Thermos out of the trunk by now. Offers Hug some coffee. Huggy has a cup, but takes it with him when he leaves, like a normal person.

Starsky starts thinking that normal people aren’t so special.

The pile doesn’t change. Starsky has another cup of coffee, and makes himself throw it in the backseat. That doesn’t make him feel any better, though, and he reaches back to pick it out of Hutch’s things.

Starsky thinks about the time he and Hutch had stayed late one night and stuffed Dobey’s office full of coffee cups. The Captain had barely been able to get his door open when he came in the next morning, the path blocked by drift upon drift of Styrofoam snow. For weeks afterward, they’d seen orphan cups in the strangest places – tucked into empty slots in the bookcase, hidden between the leaves of the fake plant, even one smashed flat and peeking out from behind the corner of one of the plaques on the wall.

Dobey actually got pretty good at finding the leftover cups after a while, but there were still a couple that he never seemed to spot. Starsky and Hutch made a game out of it, a silent I-Spy every time they went in to see the Captain. They never told Dobey about the ones he’d missed. Starsky starts to laugh at the memory, but the sound doesn’t quite make it past the lump in his throat. He looks into the backseat again, and thinks that he doesn’t care if he never sees the floor of his car again, if it would just mean that Hutch was back with him, okay, drinking coffee. Starsky remembers a line from a poem he read once, something by that guy who liked cats a lot. I have measured out my life with coffee spoons. Starsky thinks that’s not quite right, and stares at the pile of cups in his rearview mirror.

Starsky’s not sure when he starts to cry.

—–

They’re on their way back to Venice Place from the airport. Starsky quietly sips his coffee as he enjoys Hutch’s animated ramblings about the things he wants to do now that he’s better. There is a brief pause in the steady chatter as Hutch drains his own cup. Starsky glances over and watches as Hutch starts to make the familiar motion over his shoulder, and then abruptly stops and lowers the cup to his lap. His fingers begin to tap the rim of the empty cup in a random rhythm as he looks back over at Starsky and starts going on about horseback riding in the mountains, excited as ever.

“Starsk, just think of it! All that fresh, clean air, and the sunshine—”

Starsky grins from behind his cup, and quickly downs the last of its contents. Without looking, he tosses it over his shoulder into the Torino’s empty backseat.

“—and do you know, the best thing about sleeping outdoors is…”

Hutch trails off as he stares, bewildered, at Starsky, the backseat, and Starsky again.

Last night, Starsky cleaned out the Torino. He’d sorted through all the trash, the papers, odds and ends, and ended up sitting on his kitchen floor, counting out the coffee cups. He’d thought that it was maybe kind of weird, but it’s not something he planned to keep doing. It’s just that, for now, right then, he needed to count. There had been thirty-four, which, when Starsky stopped to think about it, wasn’t so many. Definitely not as many as he’d thought there had been, and Starsky wondered if there shouldn’t have been more, given all the time they spent in that car.

“But I thought —”

“—Hey, Hutch, when’re we gonna go see these horses of yours, huh? You know, I always wanted a pony.”

Starsky reaches over and gently takes the cup out of Hutch’s loose grip. He throws it over the back, and starts to laugh at the still- confused look on his partner’s face.

Starsky wants to see what a hundred and forty-eight cups looks like.