A Done Deed

The writer gets to know Starsky and Hutch and writes his book.

I did it! After one solid month of cajoling, biting my tongue and simple tenacity, I had my story.

This was going to rival War and Peace. I was literally dancing with excitement and the juices of creativity. Thinking back on it, I exercised amazing restraint. Not like me at all. Why I hung in there I haven’t a clue, but I just knew I had to do it, that here was something special, just right for me.

My first meeting with the famed duo was short and discouraging. Captain Dobey arranged an introduction for me in his office early on a Monday morning before shift. Starsky and Hutchinson sat nonchalantly at ease before Dobey’s desk, while I tried to exude confident, serious intent. I said all the right words knowing right off that I wasn’t impressing these guys one little bit; in fact, they both gave me a look that left me feeling stripped and bare without even a fig leaf to hide behind.

Dobey issued a resigned sigh and waved us out of his office. I trailed along behind like a puppy. It was a short day because SandH were due in court, thus their business suits and ties. We rode in silence to the courthouse, me knowing enough to keep my mouth shut, for the moment. I watched the proceedings with interest. SandH’s performance was direct, factual and without embellishment. Their demeanour was professional yet they made it very clear that they were working within a system that seemed to allow low life predators to escape the eye-for-an-eye philosophy when represented by a well-fed lawyer. I couldn’t help but sympathize. This time they won, but didn’t gloat, just walked out, acknowledging with a look that the balance still wasn’t met.

They seemed surprised when I walked away with a “see you later” comment. I needed time to work out the formal side of their work, the side that kept them tied down to paperwork, legal representation and the rights of the individual. This was heady stuff and involved too much of my own thoughts on The System and whether it was working or not. I hadn’t figured on that being a big influence on where I wanted to go with this story. Time to make a stand; it would shape the way I wanted to proceed from here on out.

I spent the night writing and re-writing thoughts that were being influenced by too many factors. Did I want to write the emphatic book on the American justice system? Or was I out to create a human interest, down-to-earth look at those who serve and protect? Fact or fiction? I needed more.

The next day was a shift change for SandH and we hooked up at Parker Centre about sixish. This time I did a ride-along, once again maintaining silence except for the polite normal responses. We spent a basically uneventful night, stopping now and then as SandH spoke to various people or broke up gatherings. Slowly they seemed to forget I was there and I hungrily taped snippets of conversation on the lives and situations we were driving by, or listening to over the radio. At an ‘officer down’ call they both snapped to attention instantly, only relaxing when they realized they were too far away to be of any help. Their response led me to ask myself if they ever were ‘off duty’; something to explore in the future. Once again I simply thanked them and said good night.

It wasn’t until that Friday that I was able to rejoin them. I had spent the intervening days writing like a mad fiend; when the muse strikes all else goes out the window. I think I ate and slept but I was so energized I didn’t care.

That Friday was something else. If we stopped for more than five minutes at a time, I don’t remember it. Robberies, purse thefts, drunks, chasing leads, car accidents, mindless shootings and blood, lots of blood. One robbery involved the shooting of the perp right in front of me. Don’t ever want to go there again. And, I could see that SandH wished the same thing. Although they acted to protect the innocent and used their learned skills efficiently, it was obvious that it hurt, really hurt. It was Starsky who had brought the man down, and before we left to head back to the station, I watched as Hutch gently guided him a few steps away and with both hands cupping his shoulders spoke quietly into that granite face. The tension slowly left Starsky and his head fell forward against Hutch’s chest seeking…resolution? Forgiveness? No, he was seeking his partner, his strength and Hutch wrapped him in his big arms and gave him exactly what he needed. I will never fully understand it, but I felt it too, and I lapped it up. Maybe the time would come when I could get them to speak of it.

Another eye opener for me–Internal Affairs. Officer involved shooting, etc. etc. etc. I was already fed-up to here with the paperwork and rules involved in being a cop, but this took the cake. You would have thought SandH were the bad guys.

When Hutch returned after getting coffee, Starsky gave him a look, which Hutch answered with a negative shake of his head. Starsky let out a satisfied breath of air and seemed to ease up. Later investigation confirmed a conflict between SandH and two IA guys named Dryden and Simonetti.

After only such a short time, I was getting annoyed with this silent language SandH seemed to have going for them. It left me completely out, scrambling to try and understand what was going on and not succeeding. It left too much up to personal interpretation and I didn’t want that. We were going to have to talk, and soon.

Meanwhile, another whole avenue had opened up and having an in, so to speak, I decided to divert for a bit. IA became my focus for the next three days.

And so it went for the next two weeks, me trailing along getting all the background I could, feeling my way into these guys’ lives, working up to a level of confidence that would allow them to accept my motives and abilities. Turns out I needn’t have worried about one thing–they had both read one of my books when they accepted that I wasn’t going to go away. And, the background check they ran on me was embarrassing in the extreme. Damn Huggy. He has a lot to answer for when it comes to his perception of what his friends need.

Anyway, we worked ourselves into a respectful relationship and on their next day off I was invited to lunch. Now that was a delight to see–SandH relaxed, having a beer and trying to top each other with outrageous tales. They really weren’t trying to compete with each other, that much was clear. Their eyes sparkled, and they laughed like children as they prepared lunch. Then it hit me–they loved each other. This wasn’t just male camaraderie, brothers-in-arms, life-and-death need, it was genuine affection and caring. They were family. And I was jealous, as jealous as hell and envious. Who could not want someone in their lives that knew them in and out, anticipated exactly what they needed at any given moment, who forgave lapses and anger, who filled the empty places and fought for your life.

I left that day wondering if I could do justice to the feelings that were bouncing around inside me. I was awed and hungry. Hungry for more, hungry to be part of something that was overwhelming me. How to get it all down with the respect it deserved? How to preserve the raw courage and fear it took to do this job, to balance all the needs and compassion it demanded of you?

A week later I packed it all in, said my sincere goodbyes and thanks with a little gathering at Huggy’s and went into hibernation for about a year.

When the resulting book was finally published I sent two copies anonymously to SandH. It had, all on its own, turned into fiction. It could better tell its story that way.

Six weeks later I got a short note from Starsky. “Thanks,” was all it said, and “See ya.” Hutch had scrawled underneath, “Me too.” Enough said.