For Starsky it’s about symbols. For Hutch it’s about labels. Starsky is haunted by his father’s death. Does it mean his own? Hutch must calm his childhood fears.
A two part story that deals with past family obstacles of Starsky and Hutch.
“Slow it down a little, could ya?” Hutch shook his head with a smile.
“Okay, spoil sport. I finally get her out of the shop and you won’t let me rev her up a bit.” Starsky gave his little crooked smile a twist and winked with a sideways glace as he turned onto the Parker Center tarmac. Even now, driving in always sent a tiny shudder through both of them as they past that spot. It was something they were going to have to conquer one day at a time.
But today it was the Torino’s turn, to make her great official comeback, her splendid debut. Merle outdid himself. Starsky pulled her into a space right under the marquee. They spotted an audience. “Hey. Look at this.”
Gathered waiting for them, Babcock, Collins, Edwards and Pullen clapped and cat called as they saw the red apple car come to a halt. “Hey, Starsky, you shoulda had more stripes put on, make it a candy cane!” Collins joked.
“She’s beautiful, don’t pick on her on her first day back!” Babcock added.
Starsky beamed as he approached them, looking back to blow the car a kiss. Hutch meandered behind. “She just gorgeous, alright, and she’s got better suspension to boot. Merle’s a genuine ‘ar-tiste!’
“Hey boys, what are you up to out here? What are those, donuts?” Hutch wasn’t the least bit tempted.
“Sure, yeah, hey, thought we’d give the tomato and you guys a real welcome this morning and let you have the first one out of the box!” Starsky eyed the selection that Edwards held with avarice.
“Well, don’t mind if I do, don’t mind if I–hey Hutch, how about a nice jelly crawler?? Hmm?”
“No, no indeed, Starsk, not on top of a health shake, thanks.” Starsky grabbed the most powdery confection he could muster. “Well, there goes the recovery regimen,” Hutch cracked, as he started for the stairs in a sprint.
Starsky took the opportunity to grab a sticky chocolate covered donut for the other hand, as he walked up the stairs with the chuckling crew. If he timed it right, he’s have one finished before Hutch caught him in the hallway.
Hutch barely had time to grab some coffee before Dobey’s door opened. “Starsky. Hutchinson. In here.”
“Morning, Cap’n.”
“Where’s the other half?” Dobey grumped. He walked into his office.
“Right here, Captwnnph!” Starsky mumphed, chomping down the remains of his prize, puffing powder into the air.
Hutch made a face as he entered Dobey’s office and sat down trying not to look at his messy partner.
“I have an errand for you two this morning, across town. You need to meet with Detective Powell at Central to get the last witness reports for the Thompson case.” He looked up to hand paperwork to Starsky, who leaned forward to take it. Seeing his appearance, he pulled the papers back and handed them to Hutchinson.
“You want us to add our stakeout reports to their files also?” Hutch asked.
“Not a bad idea. Shows goodwill on our part. I want you back here by noon to replace
Webster and Johnson. They’re needed in court.” Dobey gave Starsky another once over and groaned. “Okay, get that done.” He grabbed a stack of reports and tapped them on his desk watching Starsky brushing white dust off the front of his jeans.
Hutch took a look at his partner’s face and discovered he had a drop of chocolate on the tip of his nose. Dobey gave them both a look. “And before you leave, will you please have your partner tidy himself up? For goodness sake!”
Taking his handkerchief out, Hutch dunked a corner of it into his coffee, grabbed the chin, and briskly began to wipe Starsky’s mouth of sugar and nose of fudge.
“Am I all pruned now, Hutch?” Starsky joshed while wiggling his eyebrows. Hutch’s sappy smile emerged.
“Of for the love of Pete, will you two– Get! Go on!” Dobey growled. The pair popped to their feet and vamoosed, holding their muffled giggling until they fled the squad room.
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It was a beautiful June day, perfect for a ride over to Central Station. Windows open, Starsky was beside himself with glee charging her up on the freeway. Nine months of hard work to get back on the force, and four months of light duty for Starsky, they were back on the streets as a team again.
Hutch had his elbow on the window rim and his hand on the roof, as the warm, easy breeze tousled his blond hair. He glanced over at Starsky’s electric smile. God, it so nice to see you happy, so carefree, partner. He’d been through every emotion he thought possible with this man, and he still found plenty to learn. That alone inspired him.
But what had touched him most of all was his partner’s courage. It took a vast amount of Starsky’s will to wince through hours and weeks of therapy, painful exercise and desperate repetition of tasks. Despite the difficulty, Starsky pushed himself through, asking for less and less emotional assurance. Hutch was often humbled to the core at his ability to withstand muscular exhaustion. When asked to do ten reps, Starsky would always add two more for good measure. At the end of the session, he’d beam , ‘How’d I do, Hutch?’, to which a squeeze on his shoulder and a hand cupping his cheek. It was all Hutch could add, succumbing to the lump in his own throat.
Within a few months, Hutch could see the improvements that the weightlifting and therapy had achieved and he himself started running again. He wanted to at least try to meet Starsky’s bravery. Changing his health routine, his diet was revamped. He even indulged Starsky’s suggestion to ‘lose the caterpillar’ and shorten his hair a little. After a few weeks, his confidence returned. Running the best mile time he had achieved in years, Hutch felt he was going to meet Starsky as a dynamic duo once more.
But the team wouldn’t be complete if the Torino had not gotten ‘in shape’ as well. For once, Hutch agreed with Starsky, that giving up the car would have just spooked his insecurity. They had to bring things back to the way they were, to prove they could.
A lot of the officers and administration help had taken up a collection to help Starsky get back on his feet. Merle offered to fix the car for a lower price because he looked forward to the challenge of putting her back together. So the Torino was repaired to her utmost splendor. Hutch knew Starsky couldn’t have had it any other way but to return to the force intact, with Hutch and the striped tomato at their finest.
Yet, with all events, a minor improvement paves the way for a major change. For Hutch, dedicating himself to his partner’s recovery wasn’t even a consideration. It was a vocation. It didn’t take long to realize it had benefits of its own. It helped Hutch heal, then blossom. Finally, Hutch was needed and valued in a day to day relationship in his personal life. Starsky always let him know he was appreciated.
As Starsky’s physical recovery improved, so too his mental independence. Hutch knew his mixed feelings should not be expressed, but hope and dread battled continuously in his heart. He smiled through this curious morosity, but it was etching lines in his face. Heaven help me, every step forward for you, Starsk, is another step away from the unit we’ve become. He knew he would miss being roommates, eating together, and having days and nights being with the best friend he ever had. He was getting used to how full the apartment felt when they were both there. The accident had given them more determination than ever to concentrate on each other. As a small gift for the pain they both had endured, they gained a warmer, unspoken devotion than before, with what would now be known as, ‘The Shooting.’
After it was evident that Starsky was ready to return, it was decided that if the board review was a success, that Hutch would quietly move back to Venice Place. When the day came, they both cajolingly tried to pass it off as a temporary shift for the weekend, but the door to Starsky’s apartment closed ever so slowly that last day. Hutch stood chin in his throat on the landing, his last bag dragging on the steps, while Starsky leaned his back against the inside of the door, filling his imploded lungs with the last air that Hutch breathed out before he left. In unison, they took a step forward, towards their return as a pair of full time detectives, and buried their confusing feelings of their friendship for the common good.
The car slowed and took the exit. “Hey, Blintz, what’s on that mind of yours? Awful quiet.”
“Not awful at all. Just thinking, you know me.”
“Yeah? And what’s it about?”
“Nice day. Nice drive. The car’s running great. We’re great.”
Starsky lit up that smile again. “You bet we are.”
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It had been a hectic, but regular week, and Hutch felt like the groove they were getting back in felt more like the “old days” than ever. They were Me and Thee again. He especially preferred a stakeout now and then like they used to do, because he enjoyed staying as long as he could with Starsky in work mode. It also meant not having to come home to an empty apartment. But chores had accumulated, so Hutch was excited it was Friday, he looked forward to a few days off. Starsky would do the usual and come over around seven o’clock so they could go out and get a bite to eat. They’d probably spend tomorrow night hanging out at Huggy’s and shooting some pool.
Hutch was picking up clothes and tidying up the coffee table when Starsky waltzed in. “I see your cleaning lady’s off to bingo night again,” Starsky cracked.
“Yea, right after she uses up what I give her for the lotto drawing,” Hutch quipped back.
“Hey, I’m real hungry tonight, how ’bout you?”
“Well, did you call your mother yet like a good little boy?” Hutch teased.
“Whoops, that’s what I forgot!” he said, knowing full well he almost always called her from Hutch’s. That way they could both talk a few minutes with her.
Dialing New York, Starsky let it ring and rubbed his chin trying to come up with a zinger to startle her with. His regular ‘Hey, Ma, is your refrigerator running?’ was his normal choice of last resort.
She answered and they exchanged the weekly banter of how are you doings. He was about to hand Hutch the phone for his greeting when his mother said, “David, I’d like to talk to you about something and I want you to sit down.” Starsky lowered himself slowly into the living room chair. “Ma, are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh yes, David, fine, fine. No worse the last few weeks but my energy is still not what it was since I was sick last winter. I just wish I had more pep to get things done.”
“Is Nicky going over there like he said he would, is he helping out?” Starsky added.
“No, he’s not that reliable, but that’s not what I want to talk about.” Starsky waited for her explanation.
“David, I know it’s getting to that time we talked about that makes me think of your father. Your thirty-fifth birthday is coming up and you’ll be the same age as he was when he died.” Starsky sunk lower in the chair. Hutch stopped what he was doing and noticed.
“Mom, I don’t know why you have to keep bringing that up. I know it, too much I think….”
“Well, I know, but let me finish, David. I’ve been thinking of starting to go through some of his things, I think it’s time I start sorting out all that stuff in the attic, there is way too much up there…and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to manage all those stairs”. Starsky covered his eyes and shook his head sullenly.
“Do you want me to come home and help you? Do you want Nicky and I to–”
“No, Dear. Neither of you. I would like to go through those things on my own. I have a lot of our letters and memories up there, as well as, well, as well as just about everything, what did we ever throw away?” she retorted. “But I know there’s some things up there he would have wanted you to have…”
Starsky sat up, fairly nervous. He wanted to look at Hutch but he was out of the room with his back to him at the kitchen sink. “I don’t think I want you to go through the trouble of sending me anything,” he said, knowing full well this is exactly what she would do.
“I had hoped you’d have a better attitude, David. It’s time for me to start clearing some things out in case I can’t live here alone anymore, and I feel in my heart that your turning the age your father was when he died is what I need to egg me on to do it.” Starsky lowered his elbows to his knees and tried not to sigh into the phone. “Are you there, Son?”
“I’m here, Ma. I’m with ya. I know you have to get this done, I understand.” His throat was dry. What could he say beyond that?
“Okay, so give me the week to get started and I’ll see what I find. Maybe when you get a piece of the past it’ll bring you good memories of him,” she noted. They each could tell there was so much more to say, but no words to say it.
“I didn’t say I had bad memories, Mom.” He couldn’t wait to get this phone call over with.
“Well, wish me luck. Maybe I’ll unearth some treasure like more of those baseball cards you had that you said Nicky sold to that boy in your class…” She was trying to end humorously.
“I think those are long gone, but you never know…” Starsky said.
“I love you, Son, please cheer up. Being thirty-five is not the end of the world.”
“Yeah, yeah, love ya too. Bye, Mom.” He placed the receiver back a little too hard. So much for his stomach.
Hutch startled him by being on the chair rail beside him. “Hey, everything alright?” he wondered.
“Yeah, terrific,” Starsky said, getting up quickly to avoid any warm fuzzies. He pulled at his jacket and said, “Are we going or what?” as he headed to the door.
Hutch knew when it was time to leave something alone, at least until two beers from now. “Sure, usual dive?”
“Down in the Pits sounds just about right”, Starsky muttered on his way out.
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The standard bustle of characters was filling Huggy’s with plenty of noise and smoke that gave the bar its cozy appeal. In and of itself it was good to have the familiarity, Hutch thought, as he glided into his favorite dumpy booth. Unfortunately, Starsky was sullen to say the least.
“Couple beers, Hug,” Hutch quipped, “Couple to warm us up!”
“I see we have the weekend off,” Huggy responded, “That’s two cuddly beers from Huggily Bear, at your service!”
“Add a chaser to that.” Hutch heard Starsky say. Hutch looked into his eyes but didn’t make a peep. Huggy nodded, and whisked away to another table.
Hutch wasn’t sure he could find a way to start any conversation, much less approach the reason for Starsky’s mood change since the call to his mother. He decided to people watch and make small comments about their open case load. Starsky listened, nodded now and then, or smiled with pinched lips. But he didn’t look up from his drink, in fact, chaser after chaser, he seemed to be falling further into himself. Even his appetite had gone south, and what he had ordered sat unfinished. Now that should make the newspaper, Hutch thought, trying to entertain himself.
The Pits was getting rowdier, as several ladies were pumping quarters into the jukebox. Hutch was hoping the pool table would open up, but someone had dibs on it. The next record began, and a few patrons started singing along. Hutch watched Starsky sit up rather abruptly, and begin to make rapid eye contact with as many people as he could. Starsky stood up, sat back down, and stood up again in one movement. He didn’t even glance at Hutch. “I, uh, I gotta go.”
Hutch flinched, but didn’t have time to say anything, and Starsky was gone. Hutch got up from the booth just to in time bump into Huggy’s new waitress, with a tray held high with drinks. By sheer luck, nothing ended up on the floor. He comically did a mini spin around her with his mouth wide open. What just happened, buddy? He sat back down to finish what little was left of his beer. The words of the song were getting louder:
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy, oh no. I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy…
Hutch had the sickening feeling he was going to need a ride home.
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Starsky’s head was a little foggy, but he was sorry he hadn’t stayed for more beer. He realized now, a block from Hutch’s apartment that he shouldn’t have left him there like that. It wasn’t very nice, especially tonight when he could have used more of his company. The Torino crept to a stop on the opposite side of the road of Venice Place just far enough that Hutch wouldn’t notice it parked there. No sense rubbing it in.
The small private beach area near Hutch’s always invited both their weary minds. Starsky reflected on how many times they had walked it, together or alone. It was especially alluring late at night, because it was rarely visited in these hours. There were so many mega beaches in the area, places like this one were abandoned. But for Starsky, the sand underfoot was better than any shrink’s couch. He made his way to the water and kicked at a couple of rocks, bending over to pick them, then woozily straightening up. He kicked his arm back to throw one, then two, as far out into the waves as he could. He held the last stone in his hand, his thoughts quickly racing to that most important time he had been here. He fondled the flat rock just like he had that day, and thought about meeting Hutch just before he threw his badge in the water. ‘Mind if I join you?’, he had said. He wished he could join Hutch now. Instead, he just dropped the rock.
He didn’t want to stay out too long, there was nothing he wanted to think about. He just wanted to be able to talk to someone, oh come on, that someone is Hutch. But he couldn’t. He ran over in his mind what Hutch may have gleaned from his side of the phone conversation. Probably not much. He didn’t know if that was a help or a hindrance.
Walking back, if he went far enough to the right side of the beach, Hutch’s apartment windows would be in plain sight. He should have looked at him at Huggy’s. He needed the connection. He walked towards the Venice building and was relieved to see the lights were on. Good, he got home. Hopefully, he won’t be too mad at me tomorrow. He continued towards the car, then decided he’d walk a little closer to the windows. He thought he saw a silhouette in the bedroom. As he walked nearer, he was assured he had. He took a small breath and he held it. I miss you already, I always miss you, he thought. Hutch’s form stood in the window, his arms across the frame, his head leaned against it. Starsky made that sheepish grin he makes when he’s acted like a dope. There was no one to see it, but he knew he had something to make up for. He knew Hutch’s body language meant they both had each other on their minds. He lifted his fingers into the air to trace the outline of Hutch’s face. He put his hands in his pockets, suddenly more cold and sober than he wanted to be, and headed for his car.
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A busy day on the streets included a few chases that left Starsky sweaty and in need of some down time. Grateful to be home, he headed up to his apartment quickly. He came upon a box at his door. The label was from New York. He was surprised his mother had found something to send him already.
He took time to clean up and get a bite. He had no idea what she would ship but he assumed it would be something she didn’t want to throw away that didn’t mean that much to him. Shaking his head, he smiled at her attempt to cover a vintage pickle jar box with paper from a shopping bag. He kept the label and date stamp like he always did.
In the container was a note, “David, I hope you find these few items help you remember your father and the heroic work that he did. I’ll send more as I continue upstairs, there’s plenty to do. Love, Mom.” He sighed. He hoped she wouldn’t swamp him with junk.
He opened the box and found only two items, wrapped together. The first was his father’s policeman’s shirt, his dress long sleeve one. He remembered his father had several of these, but this one may have been the one he kept for special occasions, it was barely worn. His father was taller and lankier than him, so it’s not a shirt Starsky could, or would, wear. It felt spooky enough just to have it in his hands. In the pocket, his mother had placed the second item, what Starsky knew as his father’s “snitch book”. He took the book out of the pocket and placed it on the coffee table.
He stared at the shirt for a minute, because he thought his mother wanted him to appreciate it. I wish there was more of you left, Dad, not just an empty shirt. He closed his eyes for a moment, and without realizing he did it, he brought the shirt to his face, as if looking for his father’s scent. Immediately, he knew his mother would have washed it before she sent it. But it did smell vaguely familiar, kind of like New York. At least, that was what he wanted to imagine. No, if there was anything left of his father, this brought no recollection.
He put the shirt down, and began to handle the book. He had so wanted to be a policeman just like him. He remembered amusingly how the book got its name. ‘Dad, is that your schoolbook?’ he had asked while he sat on his father’s lap. “No, Davey, it’s my ‘snitch book’–it’s where I write all the names and clues about people I have to watch and follow.’ ‘And you arrest them if they’re bad, huh?’ His father smiled, ‘Sometimes they make good sneaks to ask what going on in the streets…’ He caught on, ‘Oh, so they make good snitches–a snitch book, I get it!’. His father really had been a hero, especially to him. Starsky chuckled to himself. He did like those days.
Now more than twenty years later, he was getting a chance to get inside his father’s world. He had never been allowed to play with it. He had once asked, “Do you think I’d make a good snitch, Dad?’ His father reminded him that he didn’t want him to continue his bad habit of eavesdropping. ‘There’s a difference between getting information and stealing information’ he said, ‘and discerning what the information means’. Now he’s was getting to ‘eavesdrop’ after all. Page by page he read hurriedly written notes and names, or better transcribed names and codes. He fingered the letters and tried to get close to what his father may have been working on. Soon his reflections began. It’s like my notebook, names and lists and people I should get back to, the cases I’m working on, the witnesses I have to interview, the codes for ‘off to lunch’ and ‘get gasoline’. Can’t forget those! His father’s book was neater than his, but the similarities were interesting. Starsky realized the sheer amount of names and events was tedious, as if criminals and petty crime was never ending. It was another time but the same dilemmas. How many books like these had he already filled in his career? The people on these pages could still be alive, still causing trouble, still spreading misery. Maybe it was all for nothing, Dad. It didn’t save you. How long would his list of cases be by the time he died? How much good will any of it have done? He wasn’t sure he knew.
He was getting depressed, the very feeling he wanted to avoid. Not much had changed in twenty plus years. If the story stays the same, does it also follow so does the violent ending? Hutch often said, ‘Only a fool repeats the same behavior and expects different results.’ He closed the book and sighed. He had seen enough for the evening, and he really didn’t want to continue reading. Or feeling.
It was time to call it a day. He put the book back in the shirt pocket and returned it to the box. He knew he’d better move some stuff around in his closet and clear space for the inevitable onslaught of memorabilia from the Starsky Museum of Antiquated Notions.
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Rushing to the scene, the Torino raced through traffic on the Boulevard. They followed the vehicle in question for over a mile. “That’s the second time these jokers tried to lose us with a left!” Starsky griped.
“We’ll get ’em at the next light, they won’t make it past that bus stop.” Hutch added.
Sure enough, the old Fiat was no match for the Torino, and it slammed into the newspaper boxes at the corner. A black and white was approaching from the side street.
“We got ’em, Hutch!” Starsky jumped out of the car, running around the door.
“Police! Freeze!” Hutch pulled out the Magnum and crouched. Starsky ran to the driver’s side and pulled out the burly man. The perp twisted uncomfortably but ended up on the top of the car’s hood and was handcuffed. An officer from Metro handcuffed the other passenger. “Thanks, Reilly!” Hutch said, “You want run ’em in for us?” Reilly nodded and started the Miranda.
Hutch met Starsky on the left side of the Fiat. “I’m gonna call this in, we’re going have to get a tow truck and a clean up crew out here, look at the oil draining out of that engine… might have a crack in the engine block.”
Starsky leaned below the car to look. When he stepped back, his notebook fell right into the puddle of oil. It made a splat and sunk completely in. Starsky stopped in place. My “snitch book”, great, it just popped out and fell in– Starsky halted his own thoughts. His mind raced across the pages of his father’s book he had read the night before. His father was sending a signal, he won’t need this anymore after he turns thirty-five. It was a sign, a sign of times to come, dark times, falling into the black, an omen. It must be.
Hutch was busy gathering information from Reilly and Nelson. Starsky walked back to the Torino and lovingly grasped her passenger door for balance. He felt disoriented, like the sounds of the traffic and the street crowd was awash and out of focus. He reached for Hutch’s flannel over shirt hanging on the back of the seat through the window. It was something to hold on to, to look like he was doing something efficient. He was groping to look casual.
But the shirt in his hands added to the fog. He stared at it, began to caress it with his thumbs. He placed it against his cheek. He smelled it. It was Hutch. I’m tired, Hutch, “Tired, Hutch”, he said aloud. Already by the car, Hutch abruptly halted, watching the whole scene puzzled. He inched closer. He answered, “Yeah? I’m right here.” Starsky turned and jumped. “Huh? Oh, we ready? Can we go now?” Starsky sheepishly propped the shirt on the door frame and hightailed to his side to get in. Hutch shook his head like he thought Starsky was acting like a nut. What’s wrong with him?
Nelson called over. “Hey Hutch, is this your book?” Hutch walked over to the Fiat. “Nah, it’s my partner’s. Can I borrow your nightstick?” Nelson obliged. Hutch slid the book to the edge of the oil and bent to pick up with two fingers. “Pretty messy,” he said. He reached into the Fiat and found some cocktail napkins. He wiped it up as best he could, then covered it up in old newspaper from the same car. He cleaned up the nightstick. “Thanks, glad you saw it. Can’t leave these hanging around,”, he smiled. “We’ll see you guys at the station.”
He got in the car after putting his shirt back on the seat. “You alright?” he said.
Starsky tucked in his chin and made a grimace complete with dimples. Artificially he cooed, “Course I am, why?”
” ‘Cause you left your book out on the street, didn’t you see it?”
Starsky turned the key, while avoiding his partner’s eyes. “Guess I didn’t notice.”
“It’s pretty gooey, but when we get back you can see if it’s salvageable,” Hutch added as the car peeled out a little too fast. Hutch watched him, then turned his face to the road. He was surprised Starsky didn’t take the opportunity to say the last word.
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After work, Huggy’s weekday special was calling their name, at least Starsky’s. Hutch ordered a salad with his. Chomping away nonchalantly, Hutch remembered he had Starsky’s notebook in his outer pocket.
“Oh, yeah, you might want this back. I cleaned it up a little.” Hutch put it on the table. Starsky stared at it. He flinched a bit.
“Nah, keep it with you. I, ah, just keep it.” The cover looked like his father’s. Very much like it.
“Huh?” Hutch shook his head and grimaced. “Why would I want it? Am I carrying your books like in high school, pal? Hey, don’t think I’m gonna give you mine, goofball.”
“I don’t want it. Not right now. ‘Kay?” Starsky was chilly.
Hutch blinked and waved his fork around. “Jeez, where’ve you been all day? You’ve been walking around like you’re not in your own body, like a ghost. What’s up?”
Starsky rolled his eyes. “Just thinking I guess. About my father. Just don’t make a big thing of it, okay?” Hutch put his eyebrows up. Starsky knew the look on Hutch’s face meant he was just a little too interested in the subject.
Before Hutch could start a sentence, Starsky wrinkled his napkin up and announced, “I gotta go. Need to get fuel for the car for tomorrow.” Thank goodness the Torino was a gas hog.
Hutch was left with his question mark face to commiserate the puzzle of Starsky. He leaned his chin in his hand. I don’t know where you’re going in your head, buddy, but you seem to be going there without me. Whatever was bothering his partner was starting to really bother him. He finished his meal and headed for his LTD.
Starsky sat in his car and gripped the steering wheel. He would top off the tank when he got back, because he knew Hutch would check tomorrow. They were both natural detectives, but thank goodness, they knew that about each other. Starsky needed to remember that, because fooling Hutch would only last so long. Fooling himself that his memories and fears weren’t getting the best of him was already falling apart.
He had a place that he went when he felt insecure, sort of a hiding place. The car knew where to go. Tonight, he placed his heart in her grip because she would never ask questions. Anywhere else he’d let his heart turn would lead him right to a certain charming blond, who would coax a deposition out of him that he wasn’t ready to give.
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Hutch was puttering, he realized, but it was like him to misplace that watering can he needed. Finding it, he went to the kitchen to fill it up. There was no sense going anywhere else for the night, so he drove back to Venice. No matter where he was, he would be festering anyhow, thinking about his partner, so home he went.
Hutch had dropped his coat on the sofa, and the black book had fell on the floor in plain sight. He still couldn’t understand Starsky not wanting it back. Sometimes, Starsk, I swear you like being babysat. Hutch’s soft heart took over and he decided he’d better copy off what was in it and replace it with a nice new one. Maybe Starsky didn’t want that oily, smelly thing stinking up the car in the heat, since the book lived on the dash most of the time. He really couldn’t think of a better reason.
Hutch sat with the plants and thought about Starsky’s moodiness all week. All he had was his admitting he was thinking about his father. ‘Don’t make a big thing of it’, he said. That’s a clue. That means start considering making a big thing of it, in Starsky talk.
Hutch had already noticed any issue about his father would haunt him. He remembered after Joe Durniack was shot down while under their protection by a brainwashed assassin, neither of them had found time to process what happened. Days later, while finishing up the reports on Durniack’s death, Starsky stopped abruptly and handed his typed copy to Hutch. Hutch remembered the conversation.
“Hey, uh, finish this for me, okay?”
“What’s the matter, buddy, writer’s cramp?” Hutch chuckled.
“Yeah, something’ like that….” Starsky turned his face.
“No, really, r’you alright?”
Starsky drew his hand across his face. In one second, it was as if his age changed to a decade younger. “I, uh, I have to walk or something, maybe, I can’t think here, about what he knew.” He stared at the ceiling. It’s just another guy meeting his maker, right? Except right now he’s having a talk with my fa–, and I’ll never know anything more about what happened in New York… I’m not even sure what I wanted him to say. I feel, I- I can’t stop this ache, it just crawls inside me, like when I was a kid.” He fisted his own shirt.
Hurriedly, he got up, left the squad room, and before Hutch could clumsily get past a detective’s chair in the way to get to the door, the hallway was empty with no one in sight. “Great, fine, I’ll finish up for ya!” he yelled, irritated, hoping Starsky would hear, and maybe even Dobey. He went back to the reports, using at least an hour to get them finished, shaking his head on the outside, while worried, feeling Starsky’s pain on the inside.
That was a long time ago, but it felt like Starsky’s actions were similar when it came to dealing with his father. He evaded by disappearing. Starsky would just show back up, none worse for wear. That unsettled the air for awhile, but at the time, Hutch decided it was best to let him have his way of dealing with his impulsivity. He assumed Starsky got a hold of himself and was back to normal from a solitary event.
Hutch picked at the leaves of his spider plant. His contemplations were starting to bloom. No, Starsky’s issues with his father were far from over, and it was possible it might be ‘a big thing’ after all.
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Sometimes the world-wind of a day at Parker Center was a welcome venue. Between witnesses, interviews and a few cases to organize, the hours went quick.
They didn’t get a chance to leave at the same time. When Starsky got home, there was another box waiting for him on in front of the door. He sighed disheartenly and shook his head. He got his key in the lock and picked up the box, addressed and covered in tape with a brown shopping bag, like his mother always does. He took off his jacket and settled in, a few lights, a window to open. He’d better get this albatross off his back so he could have at least half an evening.
Opening the shipping box, he found his mother’s notepaper and read, “I found this in his things. I hope it’s still something you can appreciate. Love, Mom.”
He looked into the old tomato paste box his mother had sent. Now what did she find, his policeman’s cap or some bowling trophy? She stuffed so much newspaper in these boxes you couldn’t get to the bottom. Impatient to get this over with, Starsky turned the box over and dumped the contents on the floor in front of the couch.
What fell out was a cube shaped box wrapped in very old wrapping paper. The scotch tape was yellowed but other than that, the wrap looked as if it had never been touched. He turned it over, puzzled, he’d never seen it before. Placing it topside on the coffee stable, his eyes caught the wording on the attached card in his father’s handwriting:
Happy 8th Birthday to My Son
Starsky lost all ability to breathe. He couldn’t blink, he couldn’t move. No. No, no, no. NO, Dad, this is bad. I can’t have this happen. He started to tremble, gasp small breaths, put his hand over his mouth. He tried to steady himself, but it was the hardest thing he thought he ever would have to do.
The tape. The tape had to have his fingerprints on it. He knew his father was the wrapper at holidays, not his mother, who was always in her glory with her hands full of food. How fragile the celephanish tape looked. Oh my God, if he couldn’t get past the stupid tape, how could he even deal with the inside?
Dread was creeping up his back. This was the special present. The one he never got that day. Because of what he had done, his father must have decided not to give it to him, and put it away. He wondered if his mother even knew what it was, or if she forgot the whole story, that his father had been hinting he was getting something very, very important that year. Starsky started to remember, I thought you had forgot, Dad, that’s how I dealt with it, hoping it wasn’t because of what I did. God, his head was a mess already, full of what ifs and what did or didn’ts and now he couldn’t remember a dammed thing.
He jumped up and paced. That always helps, right? Except he’d end up pacing right back to where the wrapped box was. This is stupid. It was over two decades ago and you’re acting like you haven’t gotten through junior high yet. He had to calm down, and try to remember this was a gift that had to do with love, a special gift, a good gift. Could it be that simple? Could he just let it be good? Like his mother had said, ‘Maybe when you get a piece of the past it’ll bring you good memories of him.’
Okay, okay. I can handle a gun, I can handle this. He wiped his mouth with his palm, he wiped his hands on his shirt, and then on his pants, and then he felt he had to go wash his hands before he opened it. Quit stalling and face the music. He took the box and gave it that little shake they all used to do at Christmas. He put it down on the table, and gingerly began peeling away the old tape, that fell open easily. He opened the inside and found a fancy new baseball glove.
Wow. Wow, nice. This would have come in handy. He moved it around in wonder, turning it on every side. And then– Whoa. WOW. It was signed. Signed. He rubbed his fingers across the signature. It was real.
To David, Mickey Mantle
He was dumbstruck, unable to move, until he thought he felt drool coming out of the side of his open mouth. Mickey Mantle, of course, he had an 18 year career with the New York Yankees from 1951 to 1968. His Dad took him to two Yankee games that very spring when he was seven. He must have gotten it there, when he’d stayed put in the stadium seat like his father told him to. This really was the special present. He started to realize it did feel good, kind of in awe. But then, the whys were beginning to form.
Why had his father kept the present? Why did he hide it or lose it or forget it ? Why was he getting it now? Why did he have to get it and remember not getting it then? What was there to remember, he didn’t even know. Was it about getting it before he turned thirty-five? His mother was starting to rot his brain, that’s what it is. She was reminding him every day he was going to turn that dammed thirty-five.
Starsky shook his head violently in hopes the mice would stop squirming, he was getting caught in his own maze. He held the glove firmly and gave it a little squeeze. It was nice, but what it meant he had to clear up later. He was drained and his eyes were burning. He put the glove back in the box and kept as much of the wrap intact. He placed the card on the top of the glove, and shoved the present back in the tomato box with the newspapers all puffed up willy nilly. Good enough. He brought the box to his upper closet shelf where he had placed the other box she sent. He needed a quick shower and some shut eye. No actually, he needed a quick shower and a few beers. So in that order, he abided, falling asleep on the couch between brews.
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The alarm clock was efficient as always. It blared from the bedroom and wouldn’t shut up. By the time Starsky got his act together, he was five minutes late for work. He needed coffee. He got himself some and scurried about the donut box, but unlucky him, there wasn’t any left, just a few orphaned sprinkles on the bottom lying unconscious. Terrific.
Working on reports, as usual, was Hutch, cool, calm and collected, Starsky thought. “Morning, partner!” Hutch beamed. Glaring at him, Starsky sat down and rubbed the back of his neck.
“What’s the matter, Starsk, all discombobulated this morning are we?”
“Jeez, Hutch, will you lay off? My neck and the couch just don’t get along that well, okay?” Starsky cracked his shoulders back.
“Okay, okay, don’t lose your lunch. We gotta get these two reports done before we go anywhere today.”
“Yea, well, I gotta get me some breakfast before I worry about those reports–or lunch.” Starsky was in no mood for paper details.
Hutch shook his head. “If you’re serious, you better sneak out and get back quick before Dobey catches you and twists both our necks,” he chagrined, “Get going.”
Starsky didn’t need more coaxing, so he checked if the coast was clear, and off he went.
Within a half mile there was a good morning quick-bite. He was starving, he didn’t care what he’d eat. He was about to get out of the car, when the radio went off. “All units, all units in the vicinity of 3rd and Glenview, needed for assistance, 211 in progress…” Starsky’s reflexes were on automatic despite not calling it in. Racing the Torino’s engine, he dashed up the boulevard to go see what he could do.
By the time he arrived, there were two black and white’s on the scene, one obviously engaged. He recognized Babcock trying to manage the front of the liquor store, with his new partner pinned down behind the car. Shots were being fired from one of the broken windows. There must have been two other officers around back.
He figured without Hutch this was a precarious situation, he was so used to how they toggled ideas in mid air through gestures and eye contact. But he was in ‘all cop mode,’ and he didn’t even think clearly about letting anyone know he was there. Maybe his unknown presence could be of some help. He figured it was best to see what was going on in the back alley.
He scrambled down the dirty corridor, and took cover on the side of a full dumpster. He saw a slender, dark-haired officer with his gun aimed at the door and heard a shot. His partner was too far around an old pick-up truck to be of any use. Starsky aimed his Baretta and watched in case someone came running out of the door. He heard at least two people inside yelling obscenities. Starsky could only see from one corner of the dumpster as he stooped lower to get a better angle. More yelling ensued, and the young policemen leered too close to the doorframe. Starsky’s split second reaction said in his head, Hutch! It’s yours, take it! But there was no Hutch. And two shots rang out. And one officer went down.
Starsky stood in time to see the perp jump over the fallen officer and turn for the opposite side of the alley. It took less than a second for a shot to ring out from over the hood of the truck and drop the assailant dead. From the front of the store, Babcock came running past where Starsky was and met with the other officer’s partner to check the dark-haired man’s condition. Further screaming ensued, and several people came from the alley behind the dumpster as more civilians ran to the shooting. Starsky was slammed against the trash, watching in disbelief, dazed.
A few schoolchildren ran over into the scene. “Papa, that’s my Papa, he is dead!” a little ethnic boy wailed. The boy tried to squeeze through the crowd of knees hiding the fallen officer. The store owner and his employees were calling for ambulances, and bringing towels. “Stand back, people, we need more room here!” Babcock shouted. The child kept pushing his arms through the legs, a hand on one side–and, Oh God, a baseball glove on the other hand. Starsky grabbed the rail of the open dumpster. He was getting dizzy, no, stunned. Dad. The baseball glove. Why, Dad, why did you have to get killed? The smell of the trash was getting in his mouth.
A woman came running to the edge of the crowd. “Philippe, Philippe, what are you doing here, you get away from there, you’re a bad, bad boy!” Starsky had to hold himself up. What was happening? Why was he here? Hutch, where’s Hutch? His gun fell to the ground. What was he doing? Jesus, he had to–to something–he had to get out of here, that smell, that boy, that bad boy. He lurched to pick up the gun through the filthy garbage. He scraped his knee and tripped. He got up too fast, and with no food in him, he was unsteady on his feet. He wiped his face on his shoulder as he half jogged, stumbled in a stupor, and headed back to the Torino. Dashing away, he was unaware that Babcock was staring and saw the whole thing.
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Still stuck at his desk, Hutch was wondering what was taking Starsky so long. He had a couple holes in his report, and needed to ask him some questions. At this rate, these two reports weren’t going to be done by noon.
Interrupted, he reached for the phone, “Hutchinson.”
Hi, Hutch, its Babcock, listen this is a courtesy call…” Hutch knew that meant this was “between cop” stuff, no Dobey, so he pulled the phone closer.
“Okay, go ahead, bro…” Hutch waited.
“Thought you should know your partner was over here on a 211, at Glenview and 3rd, and uh, looks like he was trying to help us, but this thing got serious with a new officer down, and he seemed kind of off kilter, in a bad way, uh…I think you better get down here, tell you more between you and me…”
Hutch didn’t need another second, “Be right there–“. Click.
Arriving at the liquor store, the area had been sealed off, and an ambulance still sat at the scene blinking. With glass and people everywhere, this might take all day to interview witnesses. Hutch looked around for Babcock, spotting him offering a pencil and paper to several people for addresses. Babcock noticed Hutch waiting by the cruiser and walked over.
“Hi, glad you could come out.” Babcock said.
“What’s up, Babcock, Starsky was here? Where is he?” Hutch was obviously eager.
“Well it looks like he showed up in the middle of it, but he never came over to me to tell me he was assisting. I saw him after Diaz and Edwards were on the backside of the building, after we charged the front, I went back and ran right past him, he was over there.” He pointed to the alley.
“Okay, so he didn’t shoot or anything?” Hutch eyed around, but no Torino.
“Nope, it looks like we won’t have to mention he was even here, since he didn’t engage at all, but it’s how he left that had my concern. He was all shaky, dropping his gun and hanging on to the dumpster, fell, tripped or something, pretty unsteady if you ask me.”
“What happened to cause that? Was he hurt?” Hutch was trying to piece the scene.
“Don’t know, he might’a got roughed up with all the civilians running through here, seems this is Officer Diaz’s neighborhood, his kid showed up with a few of his pals, screaming, thinking his father had died, they must have been playing baseball across the street over there… kid dropped his glove in the back, Diaz’s old lady showed up, yelling at the kid, it was a mess…lots of people…” Babcock was trying to remember anything else.
“I’m not sure what made him respond to this call, much less leave without checking with you guys. Is the officer alright?” Hutch felt cold and nervous.
“They took him in a hurry, I guess it’ll be touch and go. We’re gonna check at Memorial after we finish up here….I don’t know, Ken, I gotta say I haven’t seen Starsky all tipsy and off like that in a long time, since right after…” Hutch looked sharply at him with that ‘don’t say it’ look. The whole department knew not to mention Gunther and the Shooting unless they really had to.
“Yeah, I know, I know. Look, ah, can we keep this a courtesy thing for right now? I gotta work through this thing, for my partner’s sake, okay?” Hutch had a way of melting anyone short of an iceberg.
“Sure, Hutch, Ken, sure. Don’t mention it. And, uh, let me know if he’s alright, ‘kay?” Babcock walked away, someone calling for him.
Hutch walked to the dumpster to get an idea of what Starsky’s view and gun sight was, tracing the distance and imagining the situation. Officer down, a kid seeing his father shot. A little league kid. Seeing his father shot. A father shot. Starsky.
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Starsky forgot all about eating. Hell, he forgot all about the station, the reports, and pretty much everything else that made sense. All he thought about was how fast the Torino was going, and exactly where it had to take him. All this traffic was keeping his nerves reeling, he was darting around obstacles like his life depended on it. He turned off the highway where an underpass led to the 10th Street bridge. Ever since meeting Huggy there when he was on the run, it became a favorite spot to come and think. It was one of the few places he never told Hutch about, because he was sure Hutch wouldn’t approve of him trying out the Torino for all its power here a few times. Later, during his recovery, when he was driving himself to therapy, the culverts had become a great place to hide himself and the car, to take some time to steady his thoughts. He felt safer down here, especially since Gunther’s men had shot her up at the station. The culvert was like a sheath protecting the both of them, private and secure.
He placed the car in deep into the middle of the huge drain. It was cool and shady there. He got out of the car and leaned his back right where he had been when he was shot down. He rubbed where the car had taken a few bullets, feeling the slightest indentations where it had been repaired. He thanked the car again for being the barrier that saved Hutch from harm, that was her greatest gift. If he was big enough, he’d muckle the whole of her. That’s why he had Merle have her completely restored. But thinking about that day, the broken glass, having his own body cradled by the rim, he got very apprehensive.
Continuing the ritual he went through when he was alone here, he went to sit on Hutch’s passenger side of the car. He placed the side of his face where Hutch would lay his head everyday. He curled up and put his legs on the seat the best he could. It was like being in his embrace somehow, and today it helped settle the acid in his stomach. He just wanted to crawl into Hutch’s space and forget everything. He didn’t want to think about all this muck. The sound of shots were firing in his mind, shots he almost felt going through his body again. Screams and noise and dying pounded in his head. He held on to the back of the seat and pressed his face into his pretend Hutch. He closed his eyes and must have fell asleep for an hour or so. It was the only way the whole scene he witnessed and the horrible headache he had would subside.
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Hutch drove home, drained. He made coffee and let it get cold. Worried didn’t even describe what was going through his mind. He’d managed to do the ‘we’re working on some leads’ dance with Dobey, which thank goodness worked to finish out the day, because Dobey was preoccupied yelling at another team of detectives. Thank goodness for small favors.
He tried to convince himself Starsky was alright. He was very concerned about where Starsky went in those missing hours, what had become ‘those melancholy moments.’ It’s as if the Torino was in cahoots with his escapes and wouldn’t reveal where they were. The car was fast, and the vehicle was Starsky’s pal, not his. Sometimes Hutch would try to detect the mileage change, but it neither seemed significant or plausible considering all the daily emergencies and stops they had no time to mentally record. He knew when these disappearances happened that he had to go back to Venice Place and wait. He had to be available when Starsky came back, domesticating, cleaning, or just reading a book, looking casual and nonjudgmental. After he bolted, he would need to roost. Starsky would come back to Hutch’s apartment when he was gone this long.
It was hours before he heard the Torino’s engine slow down and park. Starsky’s disposition on his return was sweetly apologetic, like an embarrassed child who had runaway but got back in time for supper, and didn’t want anyone to have noticed. Yet he never said a word. Hutch just smiled at him, continued with his book, and gave him his space. Starsky seemed to beg for comfort in the slightest of touches for the rest of the day, curling behind Hutch, muckling his arm across his neck while he read, or gently nudging his forehead into Hutch’s neck like a puppy asking for attention. Hutch couldn’t help putting his arm tightly around him while they sat on the couch. He put the book down. He was just relieved he was there. But this time, Starsky began burrowing his face into Hutch side, and sliding down until his cheek was on his thigh, his arm curled across his lap, clasping Hutch’s hip. Settled, Starsky went limp.
“Rest, Babe…” Hutch whispered, “I’m right here.”
That statement made Starsky whimper in gratitude. A place to lay my head, to embalm the aching, to quench the emptiness. He couldn’t put in words what it meant that it was Hutch’s body he was clasped to, in this special manner, feeling Hutch’s heat, so close to his crotch. How he wanted to put his hand there, across the whole region, feel the pulse in his groin, and hang on like he was dying. Hutch meant safety, he meant life. But he meant more, because the smell of Hutch shut down every cringing panic and left a cloud of peace. He still couldn’t understand what it did to him, but Hutch’s musky sweetness, especially here, seeped through him. It felt like Starsky had been born to breathe in this perfection.
Starsky took bigger breaths and nudged and tightened his arm around Hutch’s waist. Hutch knew whatever was buried so deep inside this boy could not be verbally expressed. He wondered if some trauma had happened to him, maybe as young as his first school years, where language was minimal. He remembered when Starsky had told him he had hid in the closet from his father on his 8th birthday, that he felt ‘trapped and heard ‘heavy footsteps.’ Apparently, Hutch was triggering the opposite affect. I’m your answer somehow, aren’t I, Babe? It’s just that you can’t tell me, and I can’t just interview you until it comes out. Yet Hutch had to approach this eventually. These vanishing episodes were happening more often, and affecting Starsky on the job. It was just a matter of time before Dobey would notice or hear from other officers that Starsky ‘has some kind of problem.’
So by some telepathic means, Hutch closed his eyes, rested his head on the couch, and gingerly placed his hand on Starsky’s hair. For the first time, Hutch fondled it deliberately. What beautiful curls, what thick sensuous texture, I always wanted to do this. God, so exquisite. Hutch continued his ministrations, and Starsky gasped and snuggled further. Hutch didn’t know what to do next, but he felt an emotional opening. His eyes closed, Hutch imagined Starsky as a child. Who did not give this young soul what he desired, who neglected or abused him? What did he need? Hutch thought of his own stoic neglect, knowing an atmosphere much colder in his youth, but maybe through lack of relatives, stiff Minnesota isolation, and miles between neighbors, loneliness was a given. But Starsky had always had his mother’s hugs, and he was obvious with his affections, so free to flirt, cajole and cheerfully open with strangers. Starsky’s overtness is how they had met in the first place; Hutch couldn’t shake his clever dalliances. In Starsky’s family, there was plenty of everything–civic events, holidays, food, parties and relatives everywhere. There was warmth to the point of smothering. Yet, here was this little imp throbbing with vulnerability. Oh, Starsk…how I love petting you like this, you’re so precious.
They had been here for what seemed like hours. It felt like a personal sanctuary, so tender and timeless. Hutch began singing in his mind. Unaware, he started to hum aloud, ever so sweetly. Starsky always loved it when he sang and played guitar, he’d insist Hutch sing slow songs with high notes. Starsky lifted his head as the humming continued. Hutch opened his eyes, lowered his head and met Starsky’s angelic face and misty gaze. “Please, Hutch, more…” was all he said. Hutch stroked his curls and bid him to lay his head, and began to hum evenly, making up a tune from his heart’s voice, just for Starsky.
A revelation had come. Starsky held tight, adjusting, cradling, his inner world was spoken to. He moved his hands over the soft corduroys, he pinched the material, he smudged his nose and face into Hutch’s thighs, he crossed over his lap to smear his ears and cheek onto the other leg. Hutch knew he had to remain calm, and hum gently, keeping his hand on Starsky’s head. Then Starsky lifted his neck and curled backwards, to end up with his face in Hutch’s groin, and he lost the ability to move away. He nuzzled and snuggled and pressed his nose against the natural bulge and crumbled with an emotional wail Hutch had never heard before. Quickly, Starsky reared back, but collapsed there again. He was afraid, was it wrong? Hutch knew he had to reassure. “Shhh…shh..shh…my pet, stay.”
Overwhelmed, Starsky broke down, his face deeply against Hutch groin, rubbing his face against him, while it appeared that years of tears exploded in this tender habitat. Hutch spread his long fingers through Starsky’s mane, massaging his temples and wiping his tear marks, and let him succumb to the cry of his lost childhood. Hutch swallowed as he could feel his own face wince and weep for his friend.
“Oh, it hurts inside, why, why?? I can’t stop, it’s killing me, please!” Starsky guzzled back sobbing.
Hutch said tenderly, “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m here, hang on to me.”
Starsky wept on. Hutch had to shift slightly, he was as wet as he would have been having dropped a glass of water there. Starsky had already cried so much. He felt the dampness through his pants, but yet this was in no way a sexual act. He hadn’t even thought about that. It was a cleansing, that Starsky needed, the first time Starsky had uttered words or sounds that represented the edge of the abyss that he caved in. Maybe he was trying desperately to crawl out and come to Hutch somehow.
Hutch closed his eyes and found that telepathic place again. It was how Starsky was behaving, asking to cleave, and engulf. It still wasn’t enough. Starsky wants contact. Could he give him this? During the recovery, Starsky had to be handled by Hutch to help urinate in a bedpan to the point that they couldn’t worry about embarrassment. Suddenly, Hutch realized he had never given Starsky the same trust.
Hutch took his left hand and cupped Starsky head upwards, then gently lowered the zipper of his cords. He writhed delicately, to lower his underwear to reveal his flaccid glands. Then he lowered Starsky head there, as he slowly rubbed his forehead. Mesmerized, Starsky attentively placed his hand on Hutch’s cock, as if in benediction.
It was all Starsky could take. He choked and guffawed crying sounds Hutch could not have imagined. So much misery came from within him, that Hutch himself could feel his soul knotting up remembering his own sad memories. Hutch held and rubbed his back to even out his breathing. Starsky was so taken by the envelopment of his palm and lips gently touching the most beautiful private part of Hutch’s body. Slowly, Starsky absorbed the pulsation and aroma of this intimate place, and began to succumb to exhaustion, replacing his distraughtness with a feeling of redemption. I want to tell you Hutch, I need this so, I need you so, so much.
Hutch felt Starsky’s lips make small sputtered words against his member. But he knew all he could do was brush his palm across Starsky’s cheek and be patient. He had almost reached where he could cry no more. Starsky began to calm, and then looked up to the beloved face that met his eyes with a shy smile. “Thank you…I..”, he wept, “Thank you, for being My Hutch.” Hutch swallowed and raised both his own arms in a wide circle. Delicately, he said, “Come to me.”
Looking up so Hutch would see him, Starsky lifted Hutch’s cock as if it was a magic amulet, and bent to bestow one attentive kiss to it so reverently. He tenderly placed the organ where it had been and removed his hand from it. With relish, he raised himself with his elbow, then rushed to fill the arms that waited for him. They enveloped in a powerful embrace, Hutch stroking his hairline and soothingly rocking him. Hutch kissed the edges of his neck and ears and felt Starsky kiss his chest. They stayed this way until Hutch muttered softly, “Why don’t we go lay down, you need sleep.” A little whisper said, “Will ya’…?” Touching forehead to forehead, Hutch whispered back, “Yes, of course, I’ll lay and hold you…come on.”
Starsky entered the bedroom shyly and sat on the edge of the bed, while Hutch went in to the bathroom for towels. He nodded when Starsky started taking off his outer shirt. Returning, he stood near him, deliberately taking his own clothes off up to his briefs, and nodded again to encourage Starsky do the same. It was the first time they had ever gone to the same bed without a T-shirt remaining. Hutch took to his side of his bed, lifted the covers and opened his arm to offer Starsky to join him. Starsky hurried into the bed somewhat embarrassed. Hutch sat beside him and began to wipe a cool damp cloth over his face, arms, and hands that were sticky with tears. He gently dried his face with the dry towel, ending with a dollop tap on the nose, smiling the widest grin. Starsky swallowed and stared back, not able to say anything to that gesture. But he longingly couldn’t take his eyes off his partner.
Hutch went to put the towels away, then came back and shut the light. Starsky was starting to return to his regular self, and felt a little uneasy he had caused so much trouble. The room was dark, except for moonlight. Starsky hitched a series of nervous shutters due to all the crying his lungs had endured. I won’t make you talk right now, Starsk, don’t worry. Turning to him, Hutch looked into his weary blue eyes, until Starsky turned his face toward him. Putting his warm hand on his shoulder, Hutch said, “Stay with me. All night, Starsk. I’m here for you.” Starsky sighed heavily, and crawled quickly into the open arms of his dearest, Dearest. He was overcome that everything was alright. “You’re my Hutch, my Hutch…” he muttered. How he loved saying that, so it would always be true, so he would never be taken away. Hutch answered him with delicate kisses on his face, bringing his cheek to his forehead. They would sleep well tonight, as Hutch snuggled them into a warm enthralling position, all legs and arms clenched, settling into slumber.
Hutch woke himself up in the middle of the night, keeping his eyes closed to concentrate on Starsky’s breathing. He was peacefully asleep, which gave Hutch a great deal of relief. He didn’t know why this was the first time they had ended up this way after a disappearance. He couldn’t piece anything together yet, but he didn’t think Starsky could either. So many weeks he spent at Starsky’s apartment after the Shooting never produced this kind of intimacy. He’d tried to process, is this a courtship of some kind? A message that they should have thought or talked about expanding their relationship to another level? Did it mean coupling, having sex, or that falling in love was imminent? Being with a man was something they had only discussed when John Blaine died. In some ways, Starsky didn’t seem unaccepting of the possibility of such a relationship, but they hadn’t discussed their friendship as exactly similar. He remembered Starsky’s silence in the car driving to see Maggie Blaine, how he just looked at him, for answers. You were asking me to come right out and say it–that what we have surpasses just ‘being with a man.’ It’s about merging without the sex, making love with our souls. We’ve been doing it for years, Starsk.
Hutch opened his eyes slightly to find Starsky’s hand and laid his palm across it. He could feel the bond between them automatically. Maybe it was time to think about it. But then again, he knew what happened last night wasn’t about them. It was about Starsky’s pain, that he had been entrusted with, in such a private way. There couldn’t be anything between them until they could break through this mystery, and bring Starsky to a healthy state of mind. Hutch didn’t want to confuse his sexual organ with sexual feelings. Something else had happened, and Starsky spoke through that means, not to it as an end. It was surreal, and beautiful, and it had sealed them together in a way no one could ever take away. His mind was heavy with fatigue and he wanted to hold this lovely man forever, just like this. Sleep was calling. He hoped morning would be kind to them both.
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Hutch was hard to wake when the alarm went off, set for work. He found himself alone in the apartment. It felt deserted. He showered, dressed and headed for the kitchen, he didn’t have much time. On the table, Starsky had left a note. They were never very long.
Gone to my place
Clothes Clean up
See ya at work.
P.S. Thanks, My.
I’m grateful
Hutch blinked and stared at the note. ‘Thanks, My.’ My Hutch, he means. I guess ‘My’ is my new nickname. You’re adorable, buddy. His heart started singing.
They arrived separately at Metro in everyday fashion. The late reports still needed tidying up. Finishing quickly, Hutch was strategically looking for a way to get them in Dobey’s inbox between a bunch of others that were on time. Indubitably, they schemed for Starsky to engage the Captain in the hallway talking about a new grapefruit, curd and anchovy diet. It worked on two levels: Hutch got the reports snuck in with time to spare, and after listening to the offensive pabulum combination in detail, it made Dobey skip his morning snack entirely. An added bonus came when Dobey’s nausea had him peevishly sending them both out of the office on patrol without checking up on their caseload. Triple play.
By day’s end, back on the streets all day, they both had put in a good effort. Hutch was pleased that they both had released some tension that night before. That made for congenial banter in the car. They both stole glances at each other throughout the afternoon, as if they felt reassured that something valuable had happened between them. That would just add to what the friendship had already.
They drove back to the station, off duty at 17:30. Hutch had been silently smiling to himself for several miles.
“Mind telling me where you ate the “dunking orange” that left that sticky smirk on your face?” Starsky wheedled.
“It’s Duck a l’Orange, buddy.” Hutch bristled, chuckling at Starsky’s dimpled smirk. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I got you something.”
“Got me something? Like a present? You didn’t, did ya, really?” More presents.
“Nah, I just fixed something for you.” They were back at the lot where Hutch could pick up his Ford.
They both got out of the car, and Hutch slid a new black pocket notebook across the stripe on the roof.
“I threw away that oily one. I copied all the pertinent info from the old to the new.” Hutch was proud of himself.
Starsky touched the cover slightly, and flicked the edge, but he wouldn’t pick it up. “You didn’t hafta do that…” He glanced over skittishly.
“I thought you’d be glad that I did.” He could see Starsky flinch again, like the last time the book came up.
Looking over hood of car, he was trying to act nonchalant. “It was nice of you. Ahh, but you better keep it, okay? In your car or something. I can’t right now. I can’t take —I hafta go, go home, get some stuff done.” He was trying to cover his nervousness.
Hutch walked to Starsky’s side of the car. Starsky tried to open the car door to get in. Hutch stopped him before he could turn away. He grabbed both Starsky’s shoulders and rubbed them tenderly. “Wait, hey, come on, huh, buddy?” His voice was candy. He tipped his head to one side. “Whatta you doing to me? All I can do is think a-about you, worry about you, you know that. You’re m-making me crazy here, I want to be here for you.” Hutch had a frog in his throat.
Starsky gave back the most intense gaze. “You are, Hutch. I’m embarrassed I can’t figure myself out right now, I want to say stuff, but my head’s all mixed up. I feel the same way, when I get home, and then I’m sorry I’m not with you. I never really leave I don’t think. I just carry you with me and, ah jeez, can I go now? Give me some time, okay?”
Hutch knew resistance was futile, and it had been a long day. He moved quickly and cupped both his hands around Starsky’s face. Their eyes met intensely. “We’re gonna figure this out, you’re going to be okay. You have a lot to look forward to.”
Starsky closed his eyes to feel enveloped by those marvelous fingers. “Okay, I hear ya. I’ll try to make more sense.” But looking forward meant some time clock was ticking somewhere, and minutes and hours were counting down. Days to his birthday.
Hutch could not resist leaning in and meeting forehead to forehead. He wanted to touch like they had last night. He said nothing, that had to say enough. Finally, he whispered, “See you tomorrow.” He disengaged, picked up the book, and walked to his car.
Starsky felt that beautiful warmth seep away.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Starsky’s nights were not improving in the least. He walked around his furniture and opened and closed magazines, and turned the television on and off but nothing interested him. He was turning into a zombie. He laid on his bed and counted ceiling tiles he didn’t have. He felt like he heard dust fighting for parking space on his bureaus. He stayed awake too long in the dark, and he knew that would trigger busy dreams.
That night such dreams took over. He was running, and falling and tripping all at once. Get out of the alley! There was a policemen yelling for him to stop. No, there was a policemen trying to get him to go forward. Someone was going to kill him, or the cop in front. Don’t end up a dead cop like your father! His mother was buying huge crates to ship to him. His father was in one of the crates. His father was yelling don’t let them kill me. He was looking desperately for the closest closet. Let me hide, leave me alone, its killing me! There were men after him, with a baseball bat, running. They were pulling at his jeans. Bad boys get what they deserve. He was naked, without his jeans, they were hitting him, he was screaming, screaming, he was… awake.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, Hutch amusingly thought to himself. No actually, it was just Friday, and the end of a work week, with no additional shifts added on, or any stakeouts pending to swallow up the next few nights. He was hoping to spend more time with his gardening, it would give him time to think about Starsky’s demeanor, and his own, trying to interpret what’s happened in the last few weeks.
He hadn’t forgotten about Starsky’s habit of showing up at his place a little early to call New York. Why was he so late?
“Hey,” Starsky quipped walking in.
“Hey yourself,” the old adage, “we getting a pizza or is it the Ritz tonight? Go make your phone call so we can go from here.”
Starsky frowned immediately. Showing up late hadn’t worked. “Don’t make me call her, Hutch. I just can’t okay, not tonight.”
“But you always call, what will she think if her son doesn’t keep his schedule?” Hutch teased.
Starsky’s ire heightened. “Don’t Hutch, don’t tag me as the perfect son. I can skip a call. I can’t talk now, not to her or– to you, I don’t feel like it…”
Hutch wanted to help, not insist. “Starsk, I know something’s bothering you, something’s hurting you, deeply. What can you let me do for you?” Starsky was getting shifty, restless. Hutch thought admitting his own feelings might help. Gently, he added, “Please don’t keep taking off on me, I sit here and worry.”
Starsky felt guilty. “I know, I don’t feel right about that either. I’m sorry, it’s just that I get so frustrated! I just get a lot more tired that I used to, before… you know. I get to thinking about what it all means, my job, my family…” He paused. ” Can I change the subject? I’m sorry I’ve been bugging out, I don’t really want to be alone, away from you. I miss those times we were just hanging together in the same place, before I went back on the force. When we kinda lived together. It was nice.”
Hutch remembered with a little pucker on his face. It seemed so long ago already. You let me take care of you then. Smiling, he looked right into Starsky’s anxious face.
Hutch’s eyes were full of sweet willingness. “What can I do for you, right now? However small, can you let me?” Starsky was watching his lips.
Starsky’s eyes brightened just a bit. “Okay. Can you walk with me, on the beach a little, before we eat?”
An easy request. Encouraged, Hutch tossed, “Sure, let’s go.”
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
The night air was cooler than usual, but the ocean was always soothing. They strolled leisurely, Hutch with his hands in his pockets, Starsky with his bubbly bounce, he had his energy back.
“Hey, you ever read one of those lists they have in magazines, the ones like The 100 Things to Do Before you Die?” Starsky asked.
Amused, Hutch pondered. “Yeahmmph…I guess…”
Flinging his arms out like a maestro he announced, “I always wanted to get kissed on the beach, like you know, a big “FROM HERE TO ETERNITY” kiss.” Starsky grinned and lifted his eyebrows once looking at Hutch.
“You’re not dying, buddy.” Hutch grinned back with a head shake.
Starsky stopped like the signal turned red. He watched him keep walking. Hutch slowed in mid stride and turned back with his head tilted. “And no, I’m not gonna roll all over in the sand and kiss you in the surf.”
Starsky walked briskly in front of him and faced him. He gave him his best wanton blue eyes. Hutch halted, jokingly turned to the left and to the right, looking for the candid camera crew. He turned back to Starsky, grinning nervously.
“I want you to kiss me, Hutch.” He was tender, but he was serious.
They stared at each other for a good five seconds. Hutch tucked in his chin.
“You’re d-determined to ma-make me do this, aren’t you?” Hutch sputtered.
That pretty studder was back. Starsky lowered his voice just a little. Very slowly, he said, “I almost died, My.”
The wind stopped. Hutch’s forehead tensed, full of painful lines. His breathing stitched, little sharp inhales. The Shooting. He brought it up on purpose. My new name on top of it all. Damn him.
Suddenly, a tide roared inside him, and with movie music thundering through his head, Hutch’s will broke and he grabbed Starsky’s cheeks with his hands, and pulled him in like the lost love of a lifetime, ravaging his mouth with steaming lips and a tongue that had no control.
Starsky succumbed delightfully, reeled backwards and was caught by Hutch’s best romantic clutch. The searching kiss continued until Hutch steadied each of them by sliding his arms out of the embrace and onto Starsky’s shoulders. They quickly slid apart, embarrassed, both their arms grasped to each other’s forearms, panting live wolves.
Standing there gripped, they both lowered their heads and gasped for air. Their eyes met for a few seconds, but frightfully, neither were able to read the other. Hutch nodded up once, imploring, and broke free. It was his turn to dash off. His long runner’s legs took him off the beach in his best time, and he was gone.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
All Starsky had to entertain himself was his dreams, and they weren’t good. He’d come home last night from the beach hungry, a little confused, but mostly nursing a Cheshire cat smile. What a great kiss, a stupendous earth-shattering kiss! The best ever first kiss he’d ever had. Was Hutch always that good or had he goated him into it? His partner was an easy sentimental target and that just made their chemistry better. He ran his fingers over his lips and wished for that kiss over and over again. Then his thoughts made him shiver. Maybe it was to be their only kiss, their last kiss, the last one he’ll ever manage of that fortitude, that power. He looked at the clock. I hate time, it marches, and it’s coming after me.
After a night of tossing, turning and being chased by evil timepieces, he woke up chilled and miserable. He got up, made coffee, and wanted to start his normal weekend routine of laundry, vacuuming, mail. He opened the door, and there it was–another box. He wasn’t allowed to forget his subscription to his mother’s ‘Attic Hunt Club’ hadn’t run out yet. He bristled and brought the box to the coffee table, tossing it. His stomach was already churning. He decided he’d just rather go out and get some greasy breakfast and forget about staying home and opening that–when the phone rang. He picked it up.
It was Hutch. “Hey, whatcha doing this morning?” he asked.
Starsky was irritable. “Surprised you’re calling so early, not like you on the weekend.”
“Well, I was, I was th-thinking about yesterday, last night, and thought, you know we could talk or something…” Hutch was trying to feel him out, about what he was flexible.
“Talk about what?” Starsky needed someone else to have a churning stomach besides just him.
“Well, about the reason you didn’t want to talk to your mother.”
“My mother?? My moth– you don’t think we have better things to ‘talk’ about, like your sprinting ability on soft surfaces?” Starsky daily headache was starting already, he looked around for the aspirin on the counter.
“Hey, I’m trying to figure out why my partner is having issues.”
“Is that what you’re calling it now, issues? How about your issues, pal? Like always having to worry about my issues!” He opened the bottle, and swallowed three pills dry.
“Damn, Starsk, I feel like things between us are getting all confused. You’re cold, you’re warm, sometimes you’re hot under the collar…I want to get down to the bottom of this.” Hutch was desperate but riled.
“Maybe I’m just plain hot, and you can’t take it.” Starsky had to add that point.
“Starsky, this isn’t about that. It’s about working together, and your evading some issue or issues.”
Starsky stood looking over where the box was sitting. He couldn’t figure out which was worse to deal with. “Back to issues. Look, can we just shelf this? I have stuff to do today.”
Hutch wasn’t going to let him wiggle out of this again. “Like what? If you got errands, I can do mine with you. Or I could come over.”
Starsky decided he absolutely did not want that. He’d have to watch him talk, miss most of what he said, and concentrate on his here to eternity lips. Everything was starting to meld together. Dreams, birthdays, kisses, issues, boxes and sour stomachs. And no matter what, Hutch was poking him to divulge.
Hutch waited, “Hey, are you there?”
Starsky held back a miserable sigh. “Actually, no, I’m not. I got stuff to do. Busy. So you’ll have to find someone else’s issues to fill up your weekend. I’ll see ya.” And Starsky hung up so he could sigh and then grab that stupid box and go into his bedroom. It was burning him just holding it. Enough with all this, he thought. He searched the room for a place to put it, a place it wouldn’t keep reminding him he had to deal with it. An idea caught and he shoved it under the pillow on the side of the bed he doesn’t sleep on. He walked out quickly, took his jacket and keys, and didn’t plan to be around if the phone rang or anyone showed up.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Breakfast at some little diner, errands, banking and laundry done, he left his apartment quickly after picking up some things he would need. He packed up the car and rushed to the only place he knew he could get some support. He had to get out of town and put some space between his apartment, everybody’s expectations, those damn boxes and of course, his well meaning but nosy partner, or he’d never get any peace. He walked into the Pits before opening time, knowing Huggy would be available.
“Hey, brother-in-arms, I do say you look rather piqued today, what’s up, my man?” Huggy razzed.
“Hiya, Hug, you got a scotch you can throw on my tab? Maybe whiskey?”
Huggy could already tell something was amiss. “The establishment is not open for business at this early hour, besides, you don’t want that rotting your stomach so early in the week’s end, now do you? How’s ’bout some chow instead?”
Starsky didn’t feel like putting up a fight. “Yeah, yeah, okay.”
“What else can I do for you, my friend, you seem to have come in like a dog on a bone hunt.”
Starsky shifted on a stool and dropped his head into his palm, still nursing a headache.
“I, uh, I have some thinking’ to do, there’s been a lot of things, bothering me, I, I have to work out some– family stuff.”
“Family stuff, huh? Is that a new code term for Blondie? You two in a spat again?” Huggy was taking grand amusement in teasing him, but underneath his real motive was to glean what was going on.
“Yeah, family stuff.” Starsky figured going along with Huggy’s assumption might keep his exact plans to take off to himself. Keep your poker face or Hug’ll read your cards… “Look, I just need to get away for a little while, time to myself, okay? I need some, uh, some camping stuff.”
“You mean like pup tents and Coleman lanterns? Knives to kill bear with, spices for muskrat stew?”
“No, wise guy, not that much camping. More like foodstuffs to cook, and, look here’s a list I made up, some provisions.”
Huggy surveyed the laundry list. ‘Provisions’ including at least four, five full size bottles of hard liquor, specific brands. “I see ample ‘provisions’ here. Are you planning to take a bubble bath in that grog, how much do you need? Why don’t I throw in some vermouth for your cuticles?”
Starsky wasn’t in the mood for scrutiny. “Come on, huh? Can you just help me get it all together? I gotta get out of here.”
Huggy started reading the list again, sorting out what he could find first. Starsky stood up and put his arm on Huggy’s collar saying quietly, “And look, Huggy, I need this to be between you and me, no Hutch on this one, okay? Like it was before, just you and me…”
They had a little staring contest. Huggy extended out his lower lip and covered up the upper one with it. The best he could do was not saying anything, he didn’t want to make any promises he might have to break. He understood when Starsky implored his cooperation this way he meant the days before they knew Hutch. Huggy was uncomfortable, something was seriously wrong. But it wasn’t time to reveal his worry, though he knew it would come. The problem was he didn’t know when, but he sure as well knew with whom, or to who, well anyhow, he knew.
“Let me go get this started,” he said evenly, “and I’ll make you today’s special.”
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch spent the weekend with his plants, his guitar, his trip to the local Health food stores, and his mind on his partner. He did everything he could to distract himself despite that fact, and not attempt to call or drive over and pry him further. Maybe if he had time to cool off and recognize solving things was necessary, Starsky would come to Hutch on his own. It was the best way.
Hutch sheepishly realized that by Monday afternoon, his attempt at da33;tente was not producing the desired result. He went out on patrol in the morning alone hoping to cover his partner’s absence from work once again. In the afternoon, two witnesses needed to be interviewed across town and that finished the day. But by Tuesday morning, the ruse was up the minute Dobey cornered him in the hallway near records.
“Hutchinson, I’ve been looking all over for the two of you, you know where my office is, don’t you?” Hutchinson nodded dejectedly and followed the big man carrying a “I Hate Weekdays” coffee cup. Things didn’t look too promising.
They entered Dobey’s office and Hutch sat down immediately. “Well, where’s your partner in crime?”
“Well, uh, Cap’n, he’s been feeling under the weather again…”
“Again?? Does he live in the same sunny state as we do? I want him to report in and cut out this nonsense!” Hutch drew his poker face, complete with a royal flush.
“I need to speak to the both of you clowns about throwing your badges away last year. I assumed you pulled some funny business when you had to be issued new ones, but looky here what washed up on the beach in your part of town. Do you want to explain yourselves? For the both of you?” Dobey was perspiring as always.
Hutch spied the shield. It was Starsky’s. Hutch sunk. “I don’t have anything to say, Captain. It was a climatic moment, I guess, a rash one, I realize. We pitched them in the ocean as some sort of symbol…” Hutch was in overload, he flopped lower in the chair.
“You two keep me way too busy reading you the riot act that you already know as ‘police regulations.’ Or do you need a refresher course at the Academy?” Hutch nodded no. Dobey softened slightly. “Here, take the badge. Have him put it away as a souvenir, of his days before he–” Even Dobey hated bringing up Gunther. “Maybe it’ll bring him luck.”
Hutch took the badge from the edge of the desk and caressed it just a mite. Dobey could tell he wasn’t feeling very well about Starsky’s absence. “Hutchinson, is there something I need to know about? Starsky’s been out for the last two days–and yes, I have noticed.”
Hutch not only had no choice, but he actually felt relieved he could talk about his anxiety.
“Okay, I’m worried about him. I haven’t heard from him since Saturday. He’s been struggling with some personal issues that he isn’t even willing to talk to me about yet. I think I’m going to have to start looking for him, I don’t know where he is.”
Though Dobey always had a soft spot for these two, he was getting tired of having to make excuses for them the last few weeks. He had to keep some authority. Gruffly, he retorted, “In case you haven’t noticed, Hutchinson, being a detective is a move up in rank, not a license to conduct a floor show. If all my Detectives spent all their time ‘detecting’ trying to find each other, this station would turn into Peyton Place!”
Dobey was on a roll. Hutch kept quiet with one of his best bloodhound looks. “You got two days. You better get back here with one eager partner ready for work! You got that, Dee-tective?”
Hutch jumped out of the chair, he knew an exit when he saw one. “Sure do, Cap, Captain Dobey, and thanks!” He exited faster than a rabid dog without a leash.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Starsky was blue. He intended to get as drunk as he ever attempted in his life, to see what might be bluer on the other side. He thought about quitting the force. He was no cop, he was a mess. That smooth assist on Glenview proved that. He thought about what it took for him to come back after Gunther. He had returned, after all that pain, the physical work to get his game back, he made it, he’d proven he could do it, what else did he need to accomplish? Even if he made it to his birthday without getting killed, what then? He would be just living on borrowed time.
He laid on the couch and flicked his middle finger onto the liquor bottle, tink, tink. When did he give up using a glass, or a mixer? Hell, he didn’t feel like getting up and being all high brow. He took another gulp and forced it down. He was just a lanky blue collar guy chasing his tail with a really nice fiery red car. He thought about what he’d ever done right, what was it to be a good boy. He had no one to tell him. His father died too early to guide him into manhood. He tried thinking about assessing what he done with his life. He’d saved a few people. He made a lot of people laugh. He’d loved some people. Maybe he’d made some people happy. He walked up to this pretty blond once and said “New in town? Can I buy you a drink?”, those classy pick up lines. Hutch had turned around and said sarcastically, “What, are you buying?” and the rest is history. He really is a pretty blond. He was getting lonely again. He mustn’t be drunk enough yet. He didn’t want to think anymore, everything hurt. He didn’t want to be responsible for hurting the best Blintz he’d ever met.
Oh, and he had got one thing done, he’d gotten himself damned good and kissed on the beach.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch left the station before anyone changed their mind. Not having seen Starsky since Friday night at the beach, he’d already had plenty of time to worry and stew, and that hadn’t produced a damned thing. Now he intended to put his gumshoe skills in action, in what was beginning to feel like a desperate attempt to save his partner from himself.
The most obvious course of action would be to survey Starsky’s apartment. He’d driven by several times in the last few days and did not see the car there, but this time, he’d go in. After getting the key from under the mat, he entered already knowing no one had been there for awhile. Two days of mail piled in front of the door, a cold coffee pot, no dishes anywhere or lived in appearance. No trash, no pizza boxes. No leftovers in the fridge.
Starsky told him he had been working on a model ship. The model ship was close to completion, sitting on the coffee table. It was well made, majestic. He smiled at Starsky’s attention to detail, and knew it would fetch a good price for the Big Brothers Auction being held in less than a month. As he sat to admire it, he realized Starsky’s meticulousness would crossover into how he planned to disappear. He wouldn’t leave obvious clues, knowing Hutch would be as particular in looking for them as he had been to avoid leaving them. As a team, they were a legend in unspoken communication. Now they were silently not speaking to each other. Hutch was beginning to feel a sick chill come across him.
He surveyed the rooms quickly, checking for toiletries in the bathroom, his coat, gun gone. He leaned against the door to the bedroom, almost afraid to go in. On the closest dresser a magazine left open to a page caught his interest. He picked it up, then froze, “The 100 Things to Do Before you Die”. He carried the book back to the couch and placed it on the table. He threw his head on the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. God, what have I done? He still had no idea what Starsky was up to, but now guilt began to fill him, because he sensed he was responsible for why he left. Was Starsky more upset about how he had abandoned him on the beach than he was about calling his mother? Was it that–wonderful– kiss between them? Was it that he liked it, or he didn’t? Hutch rubbed his arms and trembled. They had always been able to talk to each other, about anything, it seemed. Now everything was muddled in mired emotions. He couldn’t be sure that if he’d caused part of the problem, if finding him would solve anything.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch had laid on the couch for over an hour running scenarios in his head, remembering conversations he had with Starsky in the past weeks, including the last phone call. At first, he was overwhelmed with regret. His mind again was at the beach. That was a astonishing kiss, even though he’d been cajoled into it. He closed his eyes and felt Starsky’s muscular body clenched in his passionate urgency. It compared to holding a statuesque Greek, his body so perfect and symmetrical. It had been unfair to leave him there, unreliquished. Partner, I’m sorry.
He looked at the clock. For everyone’s sake, he was going to have to get a hold of himself. He began to sort there were two categories of turmoil, one that included Hutch and one that didn’t. He started to realize his part in this had to take the back burner. Starsky had reacted to his mother’s calls and admitted he was thinking about his father. He had to begin with those clues.
He got up and started going through the apartment with greater detail. He checked through the mail and read the opened material. It revealed nothing. He thought about cataloging what type of clothes he had taken with him, and how much. That would give an indication of how long he had intended to leave for, or maybe even where he had gone, if casual or event specific.
He went in the bedroom, went through drawers and noticed warmer wear was missing. He opened the closet to check for jeans on the upper rack, when he came across two disheveled boxes on the floor, placed rather jaggedly. He brought them out and placed them on the bed.
Within a half an hour, he had surveyed their contents and which had arrived first, since Starsky kept the address labels and delivery date stamp. He read his mother’s notes. He sat on the bed and ran through the conversations in his mind he had with Starsky since the boxes arrived.
His father’s notebook probably arrived the day before he dropped his in the oily puddle. Hutch tried twice to return it, he wouldn’t take it, would barely touch it. At the Pits, he admitted he was thinking about his father. His father’s shirt–the same day as the book, he was holding Hutch’s shirt at the scene and muttered something. The baseball glove, an old present he never received. That day responding to the Glenview robbery, the kid with the baseball glove, Babcock having reported the child was yelling about his father being killed.
Hutch laid back on the bed, flabbergasted. It still didn’t make sense without knowing Starsky’s childhood memories, but they must be intense. Hutch knew what coincidences meant to Starsky, always reading fantastic stories and watching apocalyptic horror movies. He sympathized how shocking it must have been to receive a present decades after it was due. But further in his line of thinking he could not venture, without knowing what was in his partner’s heart.
Hutch tried to gather what, or where he could turn to next. Witnesses, maybe. His mother, for sure. Maybe speaking with her directly, without letting her know he had or hadn’t seen the packages would help. He also had to rule out if Starsky was there. He tried to gear himself up for what he would say, and what he needed to know.
He returned to the living room and dialed. “Hello, Rachel, this is Hutch.”
“Oh, well, Hello. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you for weeks, since I talked to David last. He hasn’t been calling the last few Fridays, I miss those calls.” Hutch could now confirm Starsky had been avoiding the phone call ritual, and that he wasn’t with her in New York.
“I don’t mean to disturb you, Rachel, but Starsky has gone away for a few days and I was wondering how you were doing with your package sending.” Hutch had to assume there was a reason she was sending these items one after the other.
“Has he gotten any of my packages? I’ve already sent three, but he hasn’t told me if he received them. They should all have arrived by now. I’m still hard at work cleaning the attic, he must have told you, I’m sorting through his father’s old things, before I’m no longer able to do the work myself.” Hutch was stuck on the word “three.” Where was the third package? Did he miss one? He had to go look in the closet as soon as he got off the phone.
“Er, uh, no, he hasn’t said that much about your cleaning, I’m afraid he’s been kinda quiet these days.”
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me. I told him again, that his upcoming birthday, when he turns thirty-five, that it’s the same age his father was when he died. You know, I always worried about David not living any longer than his father in that job. But he took on the same career path, anyway. They were so much alike. I keep wondering if his days are numbered, but of course, I shouldn’t be thinking that, now should I?” Hutch started to massage his brow.
Hutch could feel the tension in the statements she made, and he wasn’t even related. He closed his eyes and tapped into Starsky’s personality and knew immediately this discussion would have panicked him and sent him running. Their months of therapy getting Starsky back on the force included many conversations about his insecurities about his possible death, and how he miraculously survived. It could explain his moodiness, and his disappearance if pushed about the subject. It spoke volumes as to why he would avoid making his scheduled calls, or even mention the packages.
“Ken, you don’t think David is brooding about my sending him some souvenirs, do you? I sent him to live with Aunt Rosie out your way only a few months after what happened, I thought it was best for him. Now I’m not so sure about that, but none of us can turn back time.”
Hutch wanted to soothe if he could, and he felt he had gotten what he called for. He didn’t want to give too much away.
“Well I can’t speak for him, Rachel, but I will try to get him to call as soon as he returns. I thank you for letting me know how you’re doing with your project. I’ll let him know you’re doing well.”
“Tell him I love him, as always. It’s been hard to go through all the pictures, letters, and relive the memories. They were good years, but so short. A family torn apart is not an easy thing, you know. If I knew then what I know now, I may have never sent him away as a teenager. But, as it turned out, because I did, he had the opportunity to meet you, and find the most loving friend he ever could have. I’m glad he has that.”
Hutched swallowed and nearly choked. “Yes, he’s made my life whole, Rachel, in so many ways, I am so grateful for him.”
“I know you are, Dear. You take good care of each other.”
“I will, and thank you for the chat. We’ll call again soon, bye.” Hutch closed the line and rubbed his face. His heart ached for Starsky. He composed himself the best he could, and headed to the closet to search for the missing package.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
A very thorough search produced nothing. He checked the closet, the dressers, under the bed. Then he checked other storage areas, and the whole apartment. He was getting tired, and very discouraged. He laid on the bed again, just to feel close to him, to try to think like Starsky. Did he take it with him? Did he throw it away after opening it? Nothing would explain his not saving the label or the note that probably would have come with it. Oh, Starsk, help me find you.
Providence smiled. Hutch rolled off his back and onto his hip as he got up from the bed. Suddenly his elbow hit a hard spot under the unused pillow. He moved his hand under it, and he pulled out a box. His eyes widened as he saw the label. The third box, there it was. Date stamped later than the others, with four to seven days to arrive, it had to have come–just before Starsky left on that day, since no mail delivered Sunday. Hutch trembled holding the box. It was so small, it had to be holding only one item. It had some weight to it. And it was obvious it was unopened. Why was it hidden, did Starsky know, or dread knowing, what exactly was in the box? Hutch’s mind was racing. Our phone call, he was so hostile, distracted, frustrated. Another box about his father and he reacted again–by disappearing. The clues were starting to fit into place, at least within the framework of a puzzle, like the edges being formed, but the inner picture was still not revealed. But if he was running away, from the box, from the conversation with Hutch, the question was where would he run, and how would he do it?
They depended on each other for every emergency. It was natural. It was what partners were for. But this time, the only time in what seemed like years, he didn’t come to Hutch. Yet the pattern of having a partner to help during emergencies would be ingrained in Starsky. Hutch drew in an immediate breath. That’s it, Starsky would have engaged someone to help him. He would have partnered with a substitute. Huggy.
Hutch gathered himself quickly. He’d have to take the box with him. He went out to the storage closet in the hall and got a similar sized box. He placed it under the pillow like the real one. It might buy him some time or an explanation until he could get to Starsky.
He closed up the apartment and eagerly hurried to the Pits.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch arrived at the Pits right before the dinner crowd. Huggy watched him from the corner of his eye, making a beeline right to six inches from him with his long legs.
“Huggy, Starsky’s in trouble. I need your help.”
“I figured as much. He hasn’t been all himself for some time, but, hey, I haven’t been privy to what beef. S’not been fair to shut out the Bear.” Hug poured him a complimentary orange juice.
“Well the truth is, I haven’t been able to get him to talk to me either, except when I push, and he still says very little. It’s taken me all day to get to this point, I had to forage through his place. I didn’t like it, but I had no choice, he’s been gone two-three nights. I found this.” He showed Huggy the box.
Hutch hung his head. “His mother has been reminding him of his father’s death. I called her when I found some boxes she’s been mailing him, full of his father’s memorabilia she’s sorting through as she cleans house. It must be triggering bad memories, insecurities in him he can’t handle. He’s spooked about a lot of things lately, it’s affecting him on the job, and with me.”
“So what’s with this little package?” Huggy was smitten with curiosity.
“This one, I found hidden, still sealed. Seems he’s not even able to open it, maybe afraid of what it is.” Hutch felt the sides of the box, like he was asking its permission to invade it.
“I have to open it, Hug. I’m the only one that can help him but I can’t open it alone, I get the feeling he knew this one was really going to upset him.”
They both stared at it, and then at each other, then back to the box. Hutch took the knife from the table setting and carefully cut the tape. He separated the flaps with his graceful fingers, and therein gleamed a pristine, older shield worn by the New York Police Department. He looked back up at Huggy.
Huggy took a step back and straightened up. “Mmph, mmm, mmph. Seems that would have tripped him for sure.”
Hutch gingerly touched the outer edges of the badge with his index finger. He knew not to handle it too much, his father’s hand prints may still be on it. Even to Hutch, the idea of having such an emblem of a man’s career, particularly one who died in the line of duty, in one’s hands was powerful. He could only imagine what it would do, to have that be in the hands of the son who sacrificed years of his life mourning him.
“I have to find him.” Hutch muttered. Huggy turned away. “Hey,” Hutch stood up and turned Huggy gently back towards him by the shoulders, “He was here, wasn’t he? Of course, he would have been.”
Huggy gave an honest look of pain. Swallowing, Huggy could only nod.
“Huggy, you have to tell me. What did he say?” He was getting more uptight by the second.
“Yeah, he was here, early in the weekend. Wanted to get himself lubricated as soon as he walked in.”
“Did he mention me, was he looking for me?”
Huggy shook his head, “No, man, he said something about ‘family problems’ he had to think out. I thought he was talking about you. You’s family, not his old family.” Hutch nodded quickly.
But he had no idea what he’d walk into when he found Starsky. He sat again, looking into the juice glass. “Uh, you didn’t let him drink before he left, did you?”
“Course not. I could tell he wasn’t thinking with all his spark plugs, I didn’t want him driving off all cocktailed up.”
More booze again. Now Hutch was heading towards frantic. “Sometimes that little imp can get me so mad, I’d like to kick him–”
“From here to eternity?” Huggy added amusingly. Hutch reeled like a thundercloud, and stood, “W-WHAT did he say to you??”
Huggy was clueless. Tucking in his chin, he exclaimed, “What did he say what?”
Hutch slumped in his seat. He was losing it. “Look, Hug, I know he would have asked you not to tell me where he went. So what if you don’t tell me, but you just show me with a nod if I guess right. Is that fair enough?”
In Huggy’s best jive, he spewed, “What you two blue’s expect from yours truly esquire and the establishment to which I am employ is turning into a full time enterprise of its own.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, Hug.” Hutch put his weary head in his own hands and shook it, then massaged his brow. Huggy walked to the register, and brought back a piece of paper.
Huggy remarked, “I suppose I could show you what he asked for, maybe that would give you a clue where he would hunker. Though I say it may be rude of me to display his requested “potable list of intoxicant provisions.” Hutch’s eyes boggled just from the notion.
Hutch took the note and could tell by the harried writing style Starsky was sublimely asking for help. Ah, buddy, what have you gone out and done to yourself? His detective senses were in full gear. Food that takes some cooking to prepare. Not a cheap hotel, then. Not an outdoors excursion, no camping gear, blankets or something to start a fire. Knowing Starsky’s dislike for the deep woods, he’d avoid that. But he’d have access to a kitchen, a refrigerator. All that booze meant he’d be alone, not at someone’s place. He’d go where he’s isolated, private but comfortable. Of course, of course…
Huggy watched brain smoke seem to come out of Hutch’s ears. Suddenly, Hutch’s intense blue eyes looked up and right at him. “It’s okay, Hug, I know exactly where he went.”
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch gassed up his car and hoped the repairs he made to it a few weeks ago would hold up for this extended trip. Of course he’d end up at Pine Lake, at Dobey’s cabin. They both had an open invitation to use it as often as they liked, since the Dobeys never seemed able to get away. They each knew where the keys were kept. Despite its infrequent use, it was always clean, and stockpiled with can goods, plenty of housewares, towels and sheets, and general camping items, including a canoe and tenting equipment. Knowing Starsky, he’d never venture past the cabin, the city boy in him didn’t prefer animals or bugs.
Thinking about Starsky was an obsession throughout the long ride. Needless to say he was worried about his disposition. No doubt Hutch was in a hurry to get there after seeing Huggy’s ‘potable list of intoxicant provisions.’ Jeez, Starsk, what are you thinking? How could he clear his thoughts to sort anything out? No, Starsky was hiding, from himself, and from his partner. From an overload of memories and unresolved fears. Hutch worried again if he had added to the confusion leaving him abruptly on the beach. Is he angry at me, scared of me? Hutch knew finding him well sauced at the cabin was going to be difficult indeed. And sober could be worse.
Hutch tried to relax and concentrate on the road. He thought about Dobey giving him the time off, then shook his head over the irony of it all. Way to go, partner. The one man who’s out to brand your truant hide doesn’t know your whereabouts, and you go stay at his cabin without him knowing it.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch pulled up over the last turn on the dirt road grateful the Ford had no complaints. Anxious, relief came when he spotted the Torino standing her ground beside the cabin. As he stopped the car, he saw the canoe still tied on its hooks by the back deck. He shut the engine and hung his head with a debilitated sigh.
He walked to the door and let himself in like he lived there. Starsky turned the corner from the little side kitchen to the living room, bottle in hand. Hutch tried to bare a smile.
To Starsky, it looked like an ‘Aha–I caught you!’ grimace. He raised his hands up in a frustrated shrug.
“Hey, can’t a guy get away and have a little privacy?”
“Seems to me you have a whole bunch of friends here already, Starsk. I didn’t realize Jim Bean, Jack Daniels and you were so close.”
“Why don’t you just drive back where you came from, huh?” Hutch gave him his infamous livid stare. Starsky continued. “Do it, go ahead, lift that finger and scold me, I’m waiting! You got the look down pat.”
The finger did come up. “STARSKY! Don’t make me the heavy here…” Hutch felt hot. They hadn’t been together five minutes but neither of them could spit out anything else. Starsky stomped three steps away, twisted around and punched the air.
Hutch shook his head and walked towards the door. Fine, buddy, wallow away. Despondently, he put his hand on the knob.
” DON’T. Don’t…I don’t want you to go,” he burped up sour air. “I am glad you came after me. Really.” Hutch hung his head but didn’t turn around. Starsky went to the couch to sit down. Hutch took this as a sign that he might open up.
“I had to come, Starsk, you know that. There’s no phone here and Dobey’s about to set the nameplate on your desk on fire. It took me all day to find you, he gave me a few, so we’d better use them well.”
“So I just hafta fess up, is that it? Come up with a reasonable explanation? Don’t you think I’d give one if I had it?” He dropped his head with his arms between his legs.
Hutch turn towards him. “Well, unless you want the Cap’n to send you to the precinct’s head shrink, I’m hoping we can get to the bottom of this, just you and me.”
“There is no bottom, Hutch, that’s just it. I just fall in and there’s no end to the hole. I just get so tired I come back for awhile before I fall in again.”
Hutch came closer and sat on the couch end. “You have to try to be more specific. This is about your father, isn’t it. It started with your mother’s call. Then she started sending you some things…”
What’d ya do, go sneak around my place?? How do you know she sent stuff? I didn’t tell you any—”
“Look, I’m sorry. But this is getting serious. If you could tell me, you would, okay. But you’re not saying anything. So I’m trying to be the best detective I can here, buddy, I’m doing what I do best, for who I care about the most…” Boy, he was going to have a hard time not raising his voice, he cared so much.
“Yes, she’s decided she has to clean the attic all of a sudden. Something about my Dad having died when he was thirty-five, and I’m going to be…”
“The same age he was when he died. Yeah…” then more quietly, “yeah.” He shook his head.
“Then she starts sending me this stuff, no doubt you’ve seen it, my closet, right?” Hutch nodded sympathetically. “She sends clothes, his snitch book, I start going through the book, it just depresses me, that’s all. Yours and mine, our books, it’s the same crappy streets and lousy cases and dirty world. What are we doing it for? Yeah, we get the small guys, that’s actually fun sometimes, but then there’s the real big and bad ones that hire other jerks to come after us and threaten our lives and cause injuries and have all these conspiracies and put holes in ya that if you’re lucky don’t kill ya.”
Hutch was in disbelief. Starsky had strung more meaning together in the last few minutes that he had in a week. He waited, there was more.
Starsky got up and started to pace to and fro. “Then she outdoes herself. She finds a present my father was supposed to give me when I was eight that I never got. I had to open it, but I felt all sick. You saw it. Why didn’t I get it when I was eight? Why didn’t he give it me, he had four years to give it to me before he, he died. Damn it, it was wonderful, Hutch, why didn’t he give it to me? What did I DO?” He was spitting on himself. He was getting frantic.
“Hey, it’s alright…” Hutch touched his arm. Starsky reeled.
“Stop! No it’s not. It’s screwing me up. I feel too young and then too old and then too small… no one can give me any answers, and I can’t remember right, it’s all about when I was eight, or when I was twelve when he died, or when I’m gonna be thirty-five, I mean Jesus–” He took a swig out of the bottle and almost spit up.
“Will you stop pouring that shit down your throat so you can let it come out–” Hutch lurched for the bottle.
“LEAVE me alone! DON’T TOUCH ME!” Starsky swung the bottle, Hutch caught it across the chest, he grabbed it, put it down, but he wasn’t fast enough, Starsky bolted for the far end of the cabin, turned around like a trapped animal, looked left, right, and ran for the closet. He grabbed the door, slid it fast and fell into it, sliding his back into the dark corner, trying to become part of the wall. He caught his breath but he was choking, and he was making mouth sounds like a frightened hound.
Hutch couldn’t take anymore of this. He ran to him, opened the door wider, and grabbed him for all he was worth, frantically wrestling with him. Starsky fought being cradled for a few seconds, but it was too late. Hutch was cooing, shushing, rocking him, and Starsky yielded, collapsing in this needed embrace. Hutch kicked out what was at the bottom of the closet so he could get as close as he could. Starsky violently grabbed him with all his strength and cleaved to him, arms clutching his back. He pulled on Hutch’s corduroys, yanked on the zipper, and tried to pull his pants down. Hutch rushed, got on his knees, helping him, he knew what he needed. Starsky drew out the penis, and held it, firmer than the last time, but still with caring, and then he buried his cheek into the groin and sunk, dragging them both down, Hutch against the corner. Hutch caressed his beautiful curls once again. It had been an eternity since he felt those. He let his blond head hit the wall and closed his eyes.
They stayed there, everything was quiet. Starsky was exhausted, but he didn’t cry. Instead he held Hutch’s cock across his nose and brow. The life beat of Hutch’s pulse throbbed within. Safety, Warmth, Life. He tentatively rubbed his lips in Hutch’s creases, felt the delicate hairs, he nuzzled and parted his mouth and pulled on the silky skin ever so gently. Hutch was so grateful to have found him, he was so pleased to be with him, he was more relaxed than he wanted to feel. It was making it much harder than the last time to keep a lid on his reaction, it was just too good. No one had ever touched him like that, with this purposeful worship. He wanted to hear him say it. Say it, say ‘My Hutch’. Please… Hutch’s own voice opened, “My Starsk.”
Starsky let out a murmured breath, full of Hutch’s scent. He lifted the tip of Hutch’s cock and gave it a noisy kiss. He looked up to Hutch’s sympathetic face. “You said my name. My ‘my’ name.” He smiled as his eyes welled. Hutch’s eyes filled too. “Come lay with me and I’ll say it again.” Starsky reached for a hand.
Hutch gripped his palm and helped him pull himself up, and tied his pants back up. It didn’t take long to get them out of the closet. Hutch had to put his hand on his own face and squeeze his temples. He was trying to hold back a stupid giggle.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think we just got ourselves out of the closet, Starsk.” Now his belly started to heave. “We’re out of the closet.” Starsky leaned forward and put both hands on Hutch’s left forearm. They both got to giggling.
Starsky commented, “Let’s see if we know what to do with it.” Neither one knew if they were serious or if they were just delirious. They walked towards the bedroom anyway.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
The practicalities of life called for an intermission. Hutch hadn’t taken his things out of the car nor had he eaten anything. In the meantime, Jack and Jim were fighting, having a rumble in Starsky’s stomach. Neither the victor, he found himself ejecting the both of them in the toilet bowl. From there, it made sense to take turns taking showers and cleaning up. Hutch made some dry toast for Starsky to help settle his queasiness.
Hutch sorted out his toiletries in the bathroom with the door closed. He had wrapped up what Dobey gave him and placed it in his travel soap holder. He fondled Starsky’s original detective badge, and reflected how long ago it seemed they had pitched it into the ocean. They both had matured so much since then. He hardly recognized himself as he looked in the mirror. From this moment, then, where will they end up? As they traveled together all these years, they’ve grown together. The closer they approach, the further they deepen. Their ‘like’ turns to ‘love’ turns to ‘passion.’ Like anyone else who falls in love. Suddenly he knew it was true. He really didn’t know who was leading, but the dance was beautiful. Me and Thee.
He looked down at the badge again. It felt like plastic explosive. He knew he was holding a bomb in his hands. Hutchinson, snap out of it. Starsky’s emotional jitteriness would detonate both of them if he wasn’t careful. He wasn’t that educated in psychology, he’d taken a few courses in college. Yet he knew Starsky. He felt they had the same ideals, but their ideas differed through personality and experience. He had to find Starsky’s way for him.
He looked at the lines in his face. He wasn’t getting any younger either. But he didn’t have a fear of turning a certain age; he had an aspiration of growing old together. How could he get Starsky to understand, the dignity and opportunity in getting older? He had to generate hope, and bring resolve. He knew he’d have to shelf going into a loving relationship this complex until they were both on equal ground. Starsky wasn’t ready to make a rational choice. He had baggage from his past strangling his reason. Starsky needed him like a guide, a mentor. That humbled him, but also it made him afraid. There was a lot on his shoulders, and if Starsky kept fondling him in other places, he’d crumble for sure.
Hutch hurried through his routine before Starsky would ask if he was drowning in the shower. The badge went back in with the soap. He decided he’d better get it back in the car, where he had left the box from his mother that held the other badge. Being a good detective, he schemed putting the item between his dirty clothes wrapped together to bring outside. As soon as he could, he would sneak out there. He put on his sweat suit and headed to the living room.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch gathered his best casual attitude as he looked around the corner for Starsky. “Hey, I’m just gonna bring–” and suddenly he realized he was alone. An electrified panic bore through his veins, he quickly checked the bedroom, kitchen, the closet. Dear God, Please, No! His mind was chaos, he left me, he took his stuff, no he didn’t take it all, he’s out there, wait, where, keys, I gotta check for the car! He lunged for the door. His heart was in his throat and he was in a cold sweat, until he jutted to a stop right in front of both vehicles, almost tripping on his own long legs. The Torino was idle sitting to the left side of his Ford, as his audience.
Starsky turned from where he sat looking at the dark woods. He watched Hutch try to gather himself from the clumsy stampede. He went back to his slump against the passenger side door, thinking in a better mood, that display of Hutchinson klutz would have been fodder for considerable joviality. Hutch started to look about, then saw Starsky’s silhouette in the window of the car. He gathered himself, and slowly took his things to the trunk of his LTD, then walked over to the open driver’s side window of the Torino. Soothingly, he looked at Starsky’s demeanor and knew he was low. “Are you okay, out here? Wanna talk?”
Starsky felt sympathy for having frightened him this way. “Yeah, can you sit with me for awhile?”
Hutch opened the door, and sat briskly behind the wheel. He shuttered, putting his arms across it, his head hitting his forearms quickly. He was still trembling.
“Jeez, Babe, you’re all in a sweat. It’s okay, I’m sorry, really, I didn’t mean to scare ya.” Starsky came closer and put his head on his back and squeezed his elbow.
Hutch wiped his own brow and palmed his salty face, his eyes were burning. “I know, I’m alright” he piped, but then he had to release himself, “Oh, Starsky, I thought you’d left me again–” Air escaped his lungs, pushing out the fear.
Starsky sat back in his seat near his window. “No, I won’t do that, I caused you too much trouble already. I’m hurting you and I don’t like it.”
Hutch sat back as well. “You know I’m here for you, no matter what. I know you’re struggling with inner pain you can’t describe.” Hutch wiped his own face as he grappled to hold his own emotions still, his love for this man was starting to override his senses.
Hutch turned, gently inquiring, “Can I ask why you’re over there? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sit there like that.”
“I sit on this side to be close to you, Hutch, to feel you, when I’m alone. I pretend you, your space–that you’re holding me all safe. Hutch lips parted, melting. “Those times I took off, I’ve been going to this place, those culverts underneath 10th Street, where we met Huggy once. I’d hide there, just me and the car, so no could see us, no one could harm us. I started doing it when I could drive again, when I was coming back from those therapy sessions, I’d stop there and try to gather myself or something. I was trying to shake my mother off even back then, getting ideas out of my head.” Starsky turned quickly to the window.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know, that’s cause you didn’t hear her when she used to come in the room in the hospital, after Gunther, she’d be talking with Nicky, talking about my getting shot, how it was bound to happen, that I was gonna die anyways, this was the one after all, they weren’t gonna save me, then other times she said it’s just the first one, but there’s bound to be some more, because it was fate I wouldn’t live past my father. I would lay there, trying to come back, trying to live, for you, for us, and she was spooking me all to hell, it would bleed into my dreams…”
Hutch ejected a sigh. “God, that’s crazy saying that in front of a convalescent.”
“I was wondering how you knew about that line she says, you mentioned it when you came here, the ol’ ‘Dad died when he was thirty-five, and I’m going to be the same age he was when he died’. She rattled that on the phone to me over and over for the last year.”
Hutch confessed, “I heard her say it when I called her this morning. After you left, I went to your apartment to try to conjure up some clues, I was desperate, Starsk. I found the boxes she sent you, and realized what some of it might have triggered in you, but I wasn’t sure why she was sending those things, so I broke down and called her. She told me she was cleaning because–well, you know the line. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but I have to help you, partner. Before I lose you.”
Starsky looked at his friend, and their eyes met. He didn’t know what to say to quell his tension. He wasn’t sure he could beat this himself, he was still not thirty-five. He entwined his fingers around Hutch’s palm and rubbed his thumb across it lovingly. They stayed that way. The touching was so soothing.
Hutch took the next step. “Starsky, those items she sent. Your father’s shirt, and his book. I saw you that day, when your notebook fell on the street, under the car. You were holding my shirt, my flannel one.”
Starsky smiled to himself, “Yeah, I recall. I was trying to smell you, like I did my Dad’s shirt when I got it. His did nothing, but yours, well, I felt peace when I did it, I remember you staying at my apartment to take care of me. The whole place smelled like that when you were there, it was wonderful, I missed that. Guess I got carried away.”
Shaking his head, Hutch placed his other hand on his shoulder. “I’m flattered more than anything. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed being in the same place with you.” He took his arm away, but they still held one hand. “And the notebook, as you explained, just made you feel like the same pattern was repeating, a cop’s predicaments, who gets helped, who gets harmed.”
“Yeah, I’m no longer sure if anybody wins. God, I just feel like a jerk.”
“Starsk–”
“Okay, but the worst of it so far is that present she sent. I’m so rattled by that. Why did he wait and not give it to me? Four birthdays he could have changed the card and gave me that glove. Then it was too late. I left home and moved here, and forgot all I could about those days. Then Mom sends me the best present I ever could have got. And the next day–I–”
Hutch spoke quickly, “You go to Glenview and see a boy screaming over his father being shot with a baseball glove in his hand.” He met Starsky’s horrified stare. “Babcock told me you were there. He saw you leave in a daze.”
“I acted like a rookie who wet his pants. All these signs. You can imagine why I start feeling there’s like a witch doctor pushing pins in a doll somewhere. I don’t even want to think about what she’s going to come up with next.” Starsky clammed up.
Sadly, Hutch didn’t want to think about it either. His father’s badge is the last thing he needs at this late hour. He was feeling wearier by the minute, the weight of the situation was on him. But it wasn’t time to mention what was in box number three. Starsky wouldn’t know he had found it. At least they had shared each other’s information about what was bothering him so far, and they could figure it out from here. It was getting colder. Hutch rolled up the window, leaving only a crack.
Hutch gathered their thoughts. “Like I said, we’re going to figure this out, you and me. It doesn’t have to be the voice of doom, maybe its all about rising out of the ashes like the Phoenix. Facing your fears, winning against the odds.” But Hutch was losing him now, to his insecurities, he knew it.
Starsky separated their hands, and wrung both of his own together. He looked the car’s insides all over, the ceiling, the dash, the windows. He missed the culvert.
Hutch closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He placed his hands low on the wheel and clenched. He didn’t know where to go from here, they were at an impasse.
He heard a click. Starsky opened the door, got out and moved the seat forward. He then got into the back seat of the Torino. Shutting the door, he bent his neck, leaned on the vinyl wall, and circled his fingers around the repairs from the bullet holes. He pressed his lips in pain, bowing his head.
“Why are you in the back, Starsk?” Hutch watched him through the rear view mirror.
“Because I want to stretch out. And because I want you to join me.”
Hutch turned to look at him. “You…what?” He could feel the tremor inside his spine, this moment felt epic, he was nervous.
Starsky stared again at the repairs, rubbing the back of the front seat, then the small rips on the wall he touched again. “She saved your life, Hutch, she saved you for me. So you could save me.” Hutch bit his cheek inwardly. Starsky’s eyes twinkled vulnerably. “I can’t imagine what would of happened to us without her.”
Starsky looked out the window, then met his eyes in the mirror, pensively. “Please Hutch. Come sit with me. Be close to her with me.”
He couldn’t resist such earnest. He now knew why being in the car meant so much to him, she was part of their partnership, their battleship when out on the streets, their private meeting room for secrets they only told each other. Yet, he realized they had never sat in the rear seat together before.
Hutch got out from the driver’s seat deliberately, and carefully. He entered the back seat and shut the door. He placed his long legs slightly sideways and opened his arms to his friend, the slightest smile hung as he raised his eyebrows in wanting to hold him close. Starsky leaned in, first on Hutch’s shoulder with his forehead, then directed to his chest by Hutch’s hand. He snuggled in, feeling the warmth of years stir between the three of them.
Hutch sensed Starsky was using his feelings for the car to communicate his buried emotion for Hutch. “Starsk, I’m glad, then, because this means so much, that we’re here, tucked away in the woods, all together.” Now they were all off duty, coveted, isolated and safe.
Hutch closed his eyes and stroked his neck and thick curls. They held each other for a few quiet minutes. Starsky felt it was the only place in the world they were truly their real selves, for the Torino was their own place together, for most of their waking and sometimes, sleeping hours. Other than here, they had their own apartments, their own desks, their own separateness. Maybe here, he could open up. “Hey…” Starsky whispered, as he raised his head to meet Hutch’s tender expression. Starsky lifted his hesitant hand to Hutch’s lips, “I wanted to tell you how beautiful it was, you know, our ‘Here to Eternity’ kiss.” Hutch flushed with embarrassment. “No, don’t, don’t blush. I’m more afraid than you are. Ask me why…”
Hutch wanted to understand any of it, all of it, whether from his own head, which was swimming in anxious desire, or from Starsky’s mind. He whispered, “Okay, w-why are you. Scared.”
Starsky gazed upon the weep of his golden hair, his blond eyebrows, his cheekbones. Every part of him was becoming more attractive, radiant, as he placed his trust deeper within what they were becoming. He reached across to gather his face and bring their lips together in the slightest, briefest kiss. He wasn’t ready for more. Together they bent their heads and found their foreheads pressed, closing their eyes. Their fingers danced, looking for each other’s hands, grasping, parting, entwining. This was their entrance, equally joined where their minds could call their hearts to wake. “Because the kiss that night, and this moment, it just means so much…and I don’t know how, how to touch, not you, not hard, not hurt-you-like.”
Hutch sighed as his closed eyes welled, he was already so complete with this love, and it had hardly reached the portal of its depth. He listened as they parted slightly.
Starsky continued, struggling for words. “I’ve always loved women by, you know, we talked about his before, I touch them first, made it good for them first, I never wanted to be pushy, or hurt them, their bodies…especially their tender places.” Hutch remembered the conversations they had, comparing their prowess with the ladies, and how he had teased Starsky for being too timid about being ‘rough’. For all his outwardly flirtatiousness, he was so tentative initiating intimacy. He caught on. With the sensitivity he displayed about Hutch’s penis, he seemed worried he wouldn’t know how to handle a man, powerfully enough for pleasure.
“Babe, you can’t hurt me by holding me too hard there, if that’s what you’re saying. You’ve been with yourself, you haven’t broken anything.” He grinned tenderly. “All you have to do is close your eyes, and treat me how you would like it yourself.”
Starsky looked up to him pleadingly and placed his hand on his shirt. Hutch took it and lowered it to his groin. He pushed it robustly against his already strong reaction. He made Starsky fondle him rigorously until he felt that Starsky would continue, then brought his own hand to his partner’s cheek. “But this time, Starsk, I want to touch you, too. Let’s do this together.”
Hutch didn’t want this important moment to be too mechanical, but they each needed to mutually explore. They both had seen each other before, in showers, gyms, and Starsky had no choice in letting Hutch help him after Gunther. But those times were medicinal. Somehow this was their time, to evolve into sweethearts, lovers, to feel their heat and skin. And in the back seat of a car, he felt youthful again, exploring a body for the first time with the rush of initiation and adrenaline an adolescent would have. He felt young.
Hutch leaned on one thigh and raised himself, and took Starsky’s hands, slipping them under his waistband, as he pulled the sweatpants fully off and to his knees. Starsky squeezed his crotch in response, and began to fondle and probe. Hutch took him by the waist with both hands and pushed his gym clothes down as well, rubbing his cool, hairy thighs as he returned upwards to capture Starsky’s warm cock into his grasp. Starsky lifted in cooperation. He gave Starsky a gentle stroking from tip to base, with the back of his palm, to show his gratitude, for letting him be trusted like this. He knew he had to take the lead, showing his confidence in their ability to find contentment–and their passion, and take it to the intensity they were destined for.
Starsky was already undulating in Hutch’s hand, groaning small pleasures. The windows were beginning to fog, and the scent of their maleness started to overcome their hesitation. Hutch closed his eyes and concentrated on his grip, with one hand massaging and pulling the ever hardening cock, while creating a hood with his other for Starsky to rock forward into. His own manhood was thrusting and writhing in Starsky’s talented fingers, titillating, seducing, overtaking his control. They bumped their chests together to anchor themselves, pressing harder and growing thicker with every pulse, faster and more in unison, mirroring their movements, stroke, thrust, stoke, rapidly, rigorously, their cocks engorging, filling with fluid that stiffened them, grinding powerfully for release. This physical contact had waited so long, they were so eager, hungry, male.
They couldn’t kiss, they were gasping too much, and the air was thinning. It brought a lovely fogginess to their heads, so they could feel their lower heads with more intensity.
Hutch’s windedness brought deep-throated growls to the surface. He was lost in a cloud of lust as he had never felt in his life, enjoying the mixture of their movements, the masculine scents their bodies manufactured, and the woodsy colognes and soaps they had just used. He tried to turn his sensations into words, the rapture was escalating. “God, Babe, so good, oh yeah, I’m going to come for you, it’s quickening…” He sucked in oxygen demandingly, his voice vented, “Ahh, ahhhh….”
Within the same breath, Starsky’s cock was dilating, the tip blood-boiling ready, his throat emitting groans of pleasure, and he powerfully spewed his thick ejaculate against Hutch’s thumbs and palms, “Ahh, ohh, coming, with you, oh Hutch, oooh…” Hutch’s organ pulsed consecutively, spraying his wet stream, rushing past what Starsky could hold, onto the back of the front seat, while Starsky’s rupture spread between his legs onto where he sat. Their foreheads pressed together for a final time in surrender to the rush of exhaustion. They matched each other’s breathing, their panting slowing, flattening. Their hands hadn’t moved, their groins damp with their ravaged ejections, fulfilled by their anatomical alikeness, it was like lovemaking with their mirrored selves.
They cradled their faces in their sleeves. “It’s so intense, Hutch, I feel like I’m with you but you are me at the same time. I can’t imagine…” Hutch finished his sentence, “imagine what a man being with a man can be, both with our strength, our endurance, our similar body parts.” Starsky smiled. “I don’t want to let go,” then he whispered with glee, “but I think I’m starting to glue to the equipment.” Hutch sputtered only briefly, he didn’t want to lose the mood. “Well, let’s not waste it, the car got her portion,” he snickered, considering the mess they’d made. He took a breath, and returned to the poignancy of their union. Enamored, he told him, “I want to mix our semen, let me give this to you, to always remember this night.” They looked into each other’s faces, moving their eyes across their features rapidly, absorbing the beauty in each other’s handsomeness. Hutch cupped Starsky’s wetness, pulled his hands away, carefully, gently, and took his slippery palms to his own groin, massaging around and between his partner’s fingers. Starsky matched his manner. Hutch opened his own zippered sweatshirt, then reached for Starsky’s, and affectionately spread the moist remains of their discharge through his partner’s sensuous chest hair, placing most on the scars that hold such reverence to them. He hadn’t kissed Starsky, so he made little “X’ marks touching him, moving, metaphorically, through his intense gaze. Starsky held his shallow breath, and returned the action, his damp fingers feeling Hutch’s creamy breastplate, kneading their sperm across his pectorals. When finished, they foundered into a captivating embrace, embalmed with what coated their skin, absorbing into their hearts, and rocked each other, delighting in their mesmerizing first joining, satiated.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
A little while later, they had returned to the cabin. Hutch put the lights out and made sure the door was locked before he entered the bedroom. Starsky was already in bed, and he found himself hesitating about joining him there, even after they, Hutch just realized, made love for the first time. Maybe it was because to Hutch, it probably was that, but he wasn’t sure Starsky thought about it that way. There was still so much to go through, he’d have to find a way to give Starsky the rest of the story, the rest of their lives. And Hutch wanted that, to be sure, to be the rest of their lives together.
Hutch walked over to the bed to see if Starsky was awake. He turned gently as Hutch approached. “Hutch? Are you coming to bed to sleep with me?” That answered that question. “Of course I am,” he said. He took off his sweats but left his briefs on. He added a T-shirt because Starsky had put one on.
Hutch covered himself and tucked his partner’s side back in. Starsky curled around him as quickly as he could get away with it, almost knocking the air out of Hutch’s lungs. The blond’s heart soared with belonging, something he’d felt so little in his life. He loved being needed like this.
Starsky wasn’t far from falling asleep, but he wanted to say something since he came in the cabin. “I’m real happy we shared what we did in our Torino, I’ll always remember it as a very, very special first time.” Hutch’s heart leaped for further joy. Then we’ll have other times besides a first, how wonderful. Starsky added, “You know, I would have felt kind’a weird if our first time was in Dobey’s bedroom.” They both got to chuckling at the awkward thought. Then it occurred to Hutch, Dammit, he planned the whole thing. When will I ever learn? Hutch fuddled with the idea that he’d better get used to being outsmarted, it was happening way too often.
Starsky cuddled and squirmed his way as close to Hutch as humanly possible as he let out a satisfying yawn, “But, boy, I sure don’t mind huggin’ the stuffin’ outta ya in here…” Hutch dissolved into a puddle of happiness. How perfect you can end such a day, My Starsk, you give joy a middle name. He snuggled his nose into his curls and surrendered to nirvana.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
When late morning arrived, Hutch woke to the smell of bacon and eggs. Starsky had him wrapped up like a papoose, with the quilt doubled up, it was no wonder Hutch hadn’t heard a thing.
“Hey, hope you’re ready for a hearty breakfast,” Starsky announced, holding a tray complete with juices, and coffee.
Hutch melted at the sight. “You’re so cute, Starsk.”
“Okay, now don’t start with that…” Starsky teased.
Hutch took the tray after untying himself from the blankets. Starsky sat on the bed and took a cup. “How’ya feeling?”
Hutch thought he should be asking that. “Like I’m really glad I came.”
Starsky sputtered his coffee all over the quilt.
“That’s not how I meant it!” Hutch corrected.
“I know, I know. Jeez, Hutch. But yeah, I’m glad you’re here, that you came for me.”
“Oh, for Christ’sake–”
“Hutch, I’m just trying to say– just thanks. Thanks, My.” He got up and gave Hutch a peck on the top of his hair. “Maybe it’s better to communicate it this way. Eat your breakfast.”
And that was that. Hutch sat in the room, enjoying the warmth, the love that they had shared, that neither knew what to do with yet. The whole cabin was full of that feeling, that Starsky was everywhere, always there, just like those days they lived together for a while. It felt so good, even though they were far from resolving all there was to solve, it was all that mattered. Eggs. Juice. Starsky. So good.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
By midday, they were tidying up the place and packing, having agreed that using the day to drive home, get back to their lives, and returning to work a day before Dobey expected them was a good idea. Hutch carried his bag to the car and found Starsky in the back seat of the Torino with a bottle of cleaner and some towels. He grinned shyly as he approached.
“Guess we christened her a bit, huh?”
Starsky returned a little smile. “I’m not upset about that at all, you know. I just think we don’t have to advertise it to the next perp we pick up. Don’t need the crime lab scraping off a sample, either,” he joked.
That thought gave Hutch a shudder. “When do you think you’ll be ready? I need gas for the car, and if we take it regular speed, we’ll be going by that little country buffet place just about suppertime.”
“Man, that sounds really good,” Starsky quipped, as he backed out of the car’s back seat. He bumped right into Hutch and turned, brushing his cheek a little with his fingers. “But first I need a shower, that’s why I wore the T-shirt last night.”
“Because of what we put there?” Hutch was a little disappointed.
“No, because I wanted to save it, savor it, as long as I could.” He gave his partner a little squeeze around the waist, and walked back to the cabin. Hutch’s quiet sigh, a mixture of affection and poignancy, followed behind.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
On the way back, being in two cars had the advantage of personal contemplation. Hutch led because Starsky never did trust the old battle tank could keep up. Hutch thought about the two badges sitting in the trunk keeping him company. He was starting to consider calling them ‘gloom and doom’, because he could not forage an avenue to dispense them, their meaning still too volatile. I’d rather have the badges burn a hole in my pocket than upset him now. He needs more time. All he could hope for is, that the evening they had spent together, gave Starsky something to ground him for that discussion in the future. Hutch pondered, commiserated, but still overall, felt unnerved, for both of them.
Up the road came the halfway point. They were excited to get to the restaurant, admitting to each other it’s a long ride in separate cars. They lingered a little longer, by a few extra cups of coffee, than they had expected after their robust meal. Neither apparently were that interested in ending up at separate places.
“This trip kind’a feels like it turned into a mini-vacation,” Starsky concluded, “didn’t feel that way until you got there.”
“Well, I hope it helped you, but also I think we both learned some things.”
“Yeah, but what anything means right now, I’m still in a muddle.”
“I know. Starsk– why don’t we just take the next few days and keep things kind of normal, you know what I mean?”
“What’s normal about my mother’s spooky stuff, or how we’ve been, kind’a, you know, getting closer?”
Hutch passed the sugar he wouldn’t use anyway to brush Starsky’s arm. Starsky overtly grabbed his forearm and held it, public be damned. It made Hutch warm all over.
“I know its getting close to your birthday. I don’t want you to worry about anything right now. I’m here, I’m on your side, no matter what.”
“You’re saying let’s go back and do our jobs. Let’s prove I, that is we, are okay.”
“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. We’ll have more time on the weekend.”
Starsky took Hutch’s hand in both of his. It surprised Hutch again, how expressive his partner could be, so devil may care. Yet, this wasn’t where they were from, so Hutch placed his other hand on top of them all. It was instant paradise.
“Before we go, Hutch. Just want you to know. You’re the best. Through and through.”
Hutch pinched his lips together and felt his eyes mist up. “Come on, Blintz. You’re getting all sentimental and your going to blush yourself to death.” The check was heading their way, and so was the sunset. They started up the cars and drove on.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
They reported for work on time Thursday at nine o’clock. Starsky had asked hesitantly if they could use Hutch’s car for the next few days. Hutch agreed right away, practically reading Starsky’s thoughts, that the intimacy they had shared in the Torino would leer over their shoulders for awhile. Like Hutch, Starsky wanted to keep things on an even keel and please Dobey. He had been pretty lenient on them despite it all. They had two days to put in before a holiday week. Though they had intended to work at least until Wednesday, the third of July, for many at the station this coming week would be light, with many administration and legal staff already away.
Dobey waltzed in to the detective room with a professional scowl. ” Morning, Hutchinson. Starsky. I see you made it in, in due time. I see you found yourself, Starsky.” He forced a little smile then turned into his office. Hutch rose immediately. “Ah, Cap’n, can I see you a moment?” Dobey waved his arm forward as he continued into the door. Hutch circled the table, hurried in, and shut the door on Starsky’s typing.
“I see you were able to get here earlier than I gave you, I appreciate that.” Dobey shuffled the endless stream of paper on his desk and sat down.
“Thanks, he’s still a little shaky, but don’t worry, we’ll work it out,” Hutch spoke quietly, “and ahh, I haven’t given him the you-know-what yet.”
Dobey had his head resting on his chin, and looked up, giving him that ornery look. “The you-know wh–, what’s this about, Hutchinson? Another Charlie Chan mystery you two are cooking up? I can’t keep up these days–” Hutch looked behind him at the closed door nervously, turned back, then used his fingers in mid air to shape a badge, then put the shaped fingers to his own chest. “Oh, is that it?” Dobey grimaced. He shook his head as he read another report.
“I’m sorry, not very professional of me, I know, but I need this favor, Captain. Let me tell him myself, this weekend. I’m afraid he might take it the wrong way, the thing coming back from the dredges so to speak, with what he’s been dealing with psychologically.”
Dobey was skeptical, and confused. “I already told you that you have to look after each other, just like I did with Elmo. Your partner is your lifeline. Now you are starting to worry me. If I hear ‘psychological’ one more time, I am going to ask you both to report to Dr. Salisman, the new department shrink.”
“He’s dealing with a little lack of confidence, that’s all. I’m working on it.”
Dobey’s sympathy poured in, remembering his own insecurities as a cop from time to time. “Okay, I’ll let you be the one that talks to him about his…” he pointed to his own chest twice.
“Thanks, Captain. You’ve been more than kind.” They smiled at each other briefly. Dobey straightened. “Now get out into those streets and make me proud,” he said, as Hutch gracefully exited with a gentle set of head nods.
Hutch returned to his desk. Starsky looked at him. “What was that about?”
“Nothing, really, just setting up for the day, figured you wanted to get that requisition piece finished,” Hutch covered, “Dobey said we can go out on patrol anytime you’re done.”
“I’m just glad everything’s copa-stetic and he didn’t give me the third degree.” Hutch winced. Copasetic, Starsk. But he kept it to himself this time, pinching out a smirk. “Yeah, me too.” He picked up his coat. “Ready when you are, partner.”
Starsky pulled the paper out from the typewriter. “All set, let’s rumble!” They headed to the car.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
With two regular days to get under their belts, it was business as usual. They parted from work that evening like old buddies always did, with a tap on the car and a wave. Hutch kept his feelings in check to let Starsky have that sense of normalcy they had talked about.
Starsky wanted to get back to his apartment and work on finishing his model ship Thursday night. He was on a deadline to complete it so it could be ready for the Big Brother counselor that would pick it up. “It’s the least I can do to keep my promise,” he’d said. Hutch felt this was a good sign that he wasn’t just dwelling on his impending doom, but that he was thinking of others.
Starsky used their time apart to work on the model so late in the evening, that he fell asleep on the couch. He was very satisfied he had completed it and couldn’t wait to show it off. If I don’t make it past thirty-five, at least I’ll have left a small legacy. Starsky knew he couldn’t tell Hutch that had occurred to him.
An active Friday kept them busy throughout the day with reports and a trip to the District Attorney for an interview with the court. Dobey was pleased they had wrapped up several loose ends on some difficult cases.
Feeling a weekend coming on was good for everyone. Hutch had been asked by a few officers if it was a good idea to set up a small get together for Starsky’s birthday on Sunday, June 29. The holiday week coming meant quite a few policemen were taking a full week for vacation. Most of them would be away on Wednesday the 3rd. “He’s popular with everyone,” Babcock told him, “we all want him to know we care about him.” Hutch agreed genteelly to have Starsky arrive at the Pits by seven o’clock for his surprise, trying not to give away his apprehension. It was essential to have Starsky in good form by then. All Hutch had to do was have confidence in himself, that he could keep Starsky’s demeanor up in public among his professional friends, they so admired what he had accomplished returning to the force. The price of fame, he mused.
He glanced over at his partner several times when he wasn’t aware he was looking at him throughout that Friday. Starsky was holding up well so far. Apparently, Starsky hadn’t discovered the third box had been replaced with a similar one or Hutch would have been interrogated by now. The pressure was on, however, because he had to reveal both badges to him soon. Hutch could see that tonight was the only option.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Starsky didn’t make it to Hutch’s house for a call to his mother, and Hutch didn’t expect him to. They both ate dinner at their own apartments. He asked him to ride him up to Merle’s about eight o’clock to get the LTD, then headed in two cars to Huggy’s. They met on the sidewalk and waltzed into the Pits like it was just another weekend’s start. Hutch had made a clandestine call the day before and updated Huggy that he had found Starsky at Pine Lake, and that they were working things out. Huggy watched for a sign that all was well as they walked by. He was too busy at the bar to come over, sending the waitress over right away. Hutch gave Huggy a little upwards nod, and Huggy smiled back.
The beers came quickly and they were both glad to be sitting in one of the back booths. It was Hutch’s show now and he knew it; they’d made some progress and got through some decent days at work, but he had his mind keen on getting this surprise out of the Cracker Jack box.
“Hey, you remember I w-wanted to ask you, some-something important…” Hutch began.
Starsky nibbled the foam off his beer. “Yeah, I know, Blintz, you’d said that earlier, in the car.”
“Starsky, I need a favor. I have to tell you something.” Hutch raised his brows intently.
“Sure, sure, I want to give you something, somehow, for what you’ve been putting up with, with me.” He wanted that to come out as a joke, but he was still walking on eggs in his own cooped up mind.
“I’m serious, now, really.”
“Okay…” Starsky nodded.
“I have a confession. When I went to your apartment to find clues on where you’d gone, I did find something I didn’t talk about.” He saw Starsky’s eyes get bigger. Hutch put his hand out and touched his sleeve. “Look, I need you here, I need you to promise to hear me out. I want five-ten minutes, okay? No dodging, no bolting on me. Promise me, Starsk.”
Starsky gulped down the whole of the beer, and raised it up and eyed the waitress. Another was coming.
“Hey–buddy…I need you to say it.”
Starsky swallowed and nodded, “Yeah, yeah.” Then slower, “Okay.” He made the slightest grimace, he was trying. “I can listen.”
Hutch let out a big breath. “Okay. I-I found that third box your mother sent. Under your pillow. I laid on your bed to think about where you may have gone, trying to f-feel you. You understand that’s how we work.” The beer came, Starsky clutched it with both hands and nodded again.
“I opened it, ’cause I thought you’d left it, because you couldn’t open it. Starsky, give me your hand.”
Starsky’s eyes popped up fast and hard and just glowered.
“It’s who do you trust time, buddy.” Hutch spoke the magic words, words they meant when their lives depended on it. He had to obey that call.
Hutch tentatively pulled on his shirt sleeve and brought their hands closer. He placed Starsky’s hand palm up. He took the NYPD badge and placed it in the center of his palm, upright to his viewpoint. He let the weight of it fall into his hand, and he pulled his fingers away, yet kept about an inch between their grasps, in case his partner couldn’t keep his promise, he’d be able to pounce and grab him.
Starsky knew right away, that so familiar item he saw his father with every single day, that gleaming gold medallion hanging over his heart every time he came home and picked him up for a hug. He wrapped his hand around it, could feel the cool textured edges. So courtly it is, like a knight’s armor, I remember. I remember, Dad. He closed his eyes.
“Starsky, look at me.” But Starsky didn’t want to, he was keeping his eyes shut. Anywhere he’d have to look, something would be staring back at him, trying to tell him what to do, how to feel, and all he could feel was terror, liquid terror. Maybe holding his breath and turning blue was worth a try.
With graceful elegance, Hutch sauntered from his seat to Starsky’s side of the booth, like sharing a pew at a funeral.
Hutch knew to keep him cornered, yet he trusted his friend wouldn’t budge just yet. Hutch had his leg gently hooked onto his ankle just in case. Hutch held his palm with the badge in it, firmly, enough to absorb the slight shaking, to the point that he could feel his partners pulse in his wrist. He looked around the room, everyone was preoccupied. He placed his other palm on Starsky’s shoulder and moved in as if to tell him a secret. “Listen to me, My,” he whispered. Starsky squeezed his eyes harder, then blinked them open. “Take a deep breath for me, that’s it. Use your heart and look at this beautiful symbol your father cared for. He believed in his work, like you do. You share the same strength. Be proud of that.” Starsky sunk sullenly but he was listening. Hutch knew they were sharing the same little cloud of oxygen and it was intoxicating to both of them, leaving the room and its ambient noise a swirl of cluttered bramble and whine.
Starsky had promised, he would hold it together for five minutes. His watch was in his sight. He didn’t want to look at it yet. “I’m trying, Hutch. It is a handsome shield.”
Hutch sat quiet, closing his own eyes tenderly. The room could have fallen off the earth and nothing would have changed. He naively hoped this would all be okay.
Starsky pressed his thigh against his partner’s. It put a little smile on Hutch’s lips.
“Hutch…thanks.”
“For what?”
“For opening it, for helping me get through this…” Starsky was beginning to shiver slightly, to choke. He looked Hutch right in the eye, “but I hafta, hafta walk this off a little.”
“You can talk to me…”
Starsky pushed away decisively. “No, no I gave you the minutes, now I need– Jesus, let me work this out, ‘kay?”
Hutch’s frazzled nerves were surfacing again, this whole week has been new territory and he wasn’t keeping up with the growing pains.
For once, Hutch just couldn’t not beg, “Starsky, please stay. Don’t do this to yourself, don’t do this to us!”
Starsky reeled. It got them both to their feet quickly. His New York kicked in. “Get off me, man! Christ! AND DON’T GIVE ME THAT US SHIT!
Hutch was blown away. “Damn, Sta–” He slapped his own chest trying to get composed before he raised hell… Us? Shit? How can you say that to me?
It was too late. Starsky was standing flaying his arms around, his eyes black with fury. “Hey, it ain’t your father, is it? You got a father, I DON’T! I went years and years alone out here, where were you, huh? No, you didn’t have to see yours bumped off! You didn’t get the beating—” He bit his own tongue, hard. Starsky used all the fiery force he had and pushed Hutch out of the way before he could come up with one of his fancy wrestling moves. He had street bad ass in him that was turned on and hot, rushing him to the door and into the Torino as fast as the wind could take him.
Hutch ran to the door in time to see the Torino’s back lights moon him goodbye. Damn car is just as temperamental as its owner. He hung his head and walked like a dying man onto the sidewalk, cold, insulted, dejected. And very alone.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
Hutch stood there long enough to get his shaky grip around his keys and get into his safe old tub of a Ford. He’d settle with Huggy later. Another night of chasing each other all over the town. Buddy, I just can’t do it anymore. He started the car and just drove like an old man.
He knew he wasn’t going to keep up with Starsky’s evasion. Jeez, what the hell happened? In minutes, his contemplations started humming again. He was a natural, that was certain.
Hutch wondered if he should have given it to him in private, maybe that would have helped. But then again, there’s no way he would have let Starsky take off. He wanted to give him a chance to handle himself, not smother him. So, okay, it hadn’t been the approach.
Hutch drove up to the front of Starsky’s place and shut the car off. I don’t even know what I’m doing. His partner was panicked, but he wouldn’t come here. He wouldn’t try Pine Lake again. If he took off for those culverts, there was no sense stalking and spooking him in the only place he felt safe. Would Starsky go back to the Pits? Maybe. Maybe to settle the tab. Maybe to talk to Huggy. Hutch felt all jumbled, like he was playing whack-a-mole, with a dark curly-topped fiend. He sat indefinitely, time fell into a daze. Then with a sigh, he started the car again. He put down his mental hammer and slowly drove back to Huggy’s.
He listened to Starsky’s side of the conversation in his mind. He had to walk it off, he said. I shouldn’t have insisted he stay, he talk to me. He wasn’t ready. But I’m hurting, too, Starsk. Hutch took up a breath. That was the trigger. Starsky couldn’t handle Hutch’s pain at the same time as his own, he was in overload. Hutch realized he shouldn’t have cracked, insisted on not ‘doing it to us.’ Starsky reacted with so much venom against being an Us. ‘It ain’t your father’ he’d said, ‘didn’t have to see yours bumped off,” he’d added.
Hutch nodded to himself. That was Starsky acting as a teenager saying that, it was raw, like it just happened to him. There’s no ‘us’ in his youth, there was only him, fighting off the world’s dangers and disasters, no father, no mother, no brother, no familiar places anymore. And what was that part about getting a beating? Starsky had cut himself off half sentence, he was sure of it. No wonder he took off. This is more complicated yet ; it wasn’t just about his parents, it was about something that happened because of his parents. It was still coming down to Starsky talking about his past. Let him take some time, but he would have to open up, it was the only way.
When Hutch returned to the Pits, Huggy met him quickly and told him Starsky had been back. The tab was fine, paid, and Starsky added a fifth of Tequila to the bill, and took it with him. Hutch ran his hand through his hair. Damn.
He asked Huggy when he left, it had been about an hour. But there was one thing still bothering him. He asked if Huggy found the shield. Huggy said he hadn’t seen it. Hutch had seen it in Starsky’s hand while he was charging at him yelling. He concluded Starsky had to have taken it with him. For that, he was relieved.
He left and went back to the car. He was going to try the only hunch he had left. He was going to go to the beach they walked by his place. He drove towards Venice and started praying, for all kids everywhere, who hurt or were ever hurt, that struggled with the ugly violence in the world.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
The Torino was like a beacon in the night. Hutch shook his head and asked himself again why an undercover cop would have such a showboat. Yet he had to admit it eased him to see her parked on the lower left hill by the beach. He parked his car by his own place, to welcome a longer walk down to where Starsky might be.
Shuffling by the red and white Ford, he gave her a little love tap, remembering she was carrying their secrets. He walked on. He could see him from quite a distance away, a silhouette on one of the rock clusters by the coveted end. He strolled languidly towards him, toggling between lowering his head to think, then gazing at his partner’s beautiful form. I love you so, it’s almost time to tell you that. Soon.
Starsky watched him from a distance also. He used the time to swig as much Tequila as he could put down. He needed to talk, he knew that. Hutch deserved better. Hutch deserved the best, but he wasn’t it.
Their eyes met, and Starsky shrugged. “I screwed up again, didn’t I?”
Hands in his pockets, Hutch looked at the water, then back to his partner and gave a love smile. “Never, Starsk, never worry about disappointing me.”
“Ahh, Jeez, don’t play martyr on me, I ain’t no Saint David.” He felt too much like a schmuck to raise his voice.
“You’re a good person, a good partner. I’m not afraid.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t so good as all that. I was a rough kid and I got sent away for that reason. Shipped off, dumped. That was my mother’s way of coping after my father died. Just blow up the rest of the family, send off the angry one you can’t handle. Get me off the streets before I get walloped or killed. It happened already, long before I saw my father’s guts bleed all over the sidewalk. Hey, by the time I was about to turn nine, I was a tough little snot. I learned I had to be.”
“You spent your time on the street picking fights?” Hutch couldn’t see this side of Starsky’s personality.
“No, of course not. I wasn’t a bully. I was a loner. I tried to be a model kid, my Dad was a hero in that neighborhood. But I couldn’t seem to do the right thing.”
“Sounds like you were trying to be a good kid.” Hutch was getting lost in Starsky’s circular logic.
“You don’t understand, something happened to me, they hurt me, I wasn’t ‘good’, I should have told my father!”
Hutch was irritated, “Told him what? Who hurt you, Starsky? What happened to you, that time around your birthday?” Oh, don’t tell me he… “Did your father hurt you?”
“No! No, no…come on, huh?” He shook his head very hard. “Not my father, those…men, those goons that worked for Durniak.”
Durniak? Hutch was taken aback. Starsky shook his head, took a swig, and choked on it. This hard liquor kick had to stop. Hutch walked over, reached to take the bottle away, and placed it on the ground.
Hutch put a hand on his shoulder, but Starsky looked away. He tried to not to display exasperation. It was time. He said sympathetically, “Starsky, you’re losing me with all this. Please tell me. Tell me what happened to you.” He rubbed Starsky’s back with encouraging strokes.
Starsky looked out towards the water. “I used to go outside and play in the alley next to my house. I heard some guys talking about my Dad. I liked to eavesdrop, my father was always telling me to stop doing that, but I used’ta anyway ’cause many people said such nice things about my father, I liked hearing ’em. But this one time it was different. These guys were saying how he was in the way, how he knew some stuff that would be dangerous if other people found out. They said he had to be taken care of. I was so afraid but I had no idea what it meant.” Hutch listened intensely.
“I got scared. I started to leave but they must of heard me. They came around the corner and they grabbed me and pulled me deep into the alley. They said they knew I was his kid, and they thought I had heard too much, that I was a naughty boy. They told me I’d better not say anything to my father and I said I wouldn’t. They said they knew damned well I wouldn’t because they were going to make sure of it. They said they were going to spank me. I tried to get away, but they snatched me and one of them pulled down my pants and started to hit me. Then they grabbed me, turned me around and started to spank—my front side, Hutch. They pulled on me, laughing, and slapped me so hard–they kept pounding and pounding my–”
His Adam apple trembling, he felt like he was suffocating. Hutch caught him with both arms to keep him from falling off the rock. Starsky guttered raspily, “It hurt inside, why, why?? It killed me!” And then it came again. That unearthly wail came forth.
Hutch acted quickly, pulling him towards him, “Come here, don’t run away anymore! Come to me!” Starsky let himself fall into Hutch’s lap, to his groin, both hands on his crotch, his cheek on the zipper, coughing, gasping, trying not to throw up.
“Shhh, easy now, take it easy, you’re with me, it’s going to be alright. They’re not going to hurt you again, I know now. I’m not going to let anything hurt you like that again. It was vile, Starsk. No one should ever do that to anyone, especially a kid.”
It all made sense. No wonder Starsky so needed to be close and tender to the groin of a man. He was unable to reach out and get or be given that tenderness. He was never forgiven for being “naughty” because he had never told anyone it happened. And somehow, his natural shame became distorted, from being abused, spanked and handled in such an intimate area. It made him unable to ever discuss it. The words he had used the first night he held Hutch there, he had repeated here on the beach again. They must have been close to the words he spoke to those men that day, the only words he ever said about it.
Hutch lifted him back to a sitting position. Starsky was ravaged with tremors, half crying, half cringing. He rubbed his partner’s forearms like they always did since they’ve known each other. Hutch was trying to figure out how he could use what he knew already to help steady him. “Hey, partner, it’s okay…” he offered.
“But that’s not all of it, Hutch. It gets worse.” Hutch couldn’t imagine much worse.
“My mom, she saw the bruises the next day, when I was taking a bath, she got very weird about it. She went and told my father. You know me, with eavesdropping. I overheard her telling my Dad that she suspected I was ‘doing something’ to myself. Jeez, that’s so dumb, I was only seven. I didn’t even know what she meant by that, but she looked at me and said I was…” Starsky was choking again, spitting up. “It’s okay, say it!” Hutch pushed for him.
“She said I was a BAD, bad boy.” He whimpered loudly. “Hutch–I was mortified, whatever a kid feels with that word. I never got over thinking about that, for years, that my father thought I was some masochistic pervert. I heard him tell my mother he would talk to me about it, about not doing things like that. He wouldn’t have a son that did those things.” Hutch held him more gently, shocked he had gone through all this terror as a youth and later grew to be so sure of himself, so inveigling as an adult.
“That’s why I hid in the closet from my father the next day, on my birthday. I already had the party with my mother and the relatives before he got home from work. He was probably going to give me my special present that night, but must’a changed his mind. I hid from him afraid. I guess he was angry and ashamed of me. I sat in that closet worryin’ he’d want to see my body–” Starsky made two shaky fists and pulled them towards his own chest. “I would just sit in the dark and hold myself , you know, there, lots of times.” Starsky looked at him with the most pleading, afflicted glare.
They stared at each other. Hutch was absorbing his devastation. I only have my love for him, to heal this child. Hutch took Starsky’s hands, unfurled the cold fists, and ran his fingers to the tips, placing Starsky’s fingers to his lips. He kissed them gently, then kissed his palms, then passed them through to his own cheeks. Starsky jumped at the chance to embrace, and Hutch slid to him with effortless grace. Hutch rubbed and patted his muscular back, and sighed openly. The horror had passed, the trepidation was over.
They separated slightly, still a little embarrassed on the beach, even though there was no one anywhere. It was way past midnight.
“I’m so sorry you went through so much, Starsk, and you had to bear it all alone, at so young an age. Being man-handled like that is beyond what anyone should stand. Adding your mother’s reaction, its unfathomable how that must have felt for you. She shouldn’t have mixed it up to be something… sexual, perverted. But you have to understand our parents’ generation, they lacked information, how bruises like that were formed. No one was open about signs of abuse back then, they didn’t know as much as society does now. Consider her education, what her parents taught her.”
“Yeah, I bet my grandmother hit her on the head with the Talmud if she even asked about babies.” It was nice to hear Starsky making a dry joke. Hutch squeezed his shoulder. “But Hutch, what I regret the most isn’t any of that. It’s that…I’ll never know what it would have felt like to open that gift in front of him and how happy my Dad would have been to see my excitement.” Starsky lowered his head.
“I know, it’s unfair to have lost that moment. But think about it, Starsk. You do love the glove don’t you?”
“Yes, I thought it was the most beautiful present he ever could give me.” He lifted his hands in slight exasperation. “I don’t know why he didn’t give it to me later. Maybe he didn’t think I deserved it.”
“No, maybe he honestly forgot about it once he hid it away.” Hutch thought of his own family and the frosty, practical presents his parents used to doll out. He had let his pain stew throughout his whole teen years. “You have to let your parents be human, Starsk. When we’re little, we think everything revolves around what we did. But your father didn’t know about the shame and fear you felt, or about the beating. He wouldn’t have had anything to dislike you for. And you never had those bruises again. If they never asked you where they came from in the first place, maybe the incident for them was forgotten.”
Starsky was not easily swayed. “He had years to give it to me, at least four more birthdays.”
“Buddy, your father didn’t know that. He was killed unexpectedly. Maybe he would have given it to you had he lived longer, you can’t determine otherwise now.”
Starsky bit his lower lip, holding back tears in his throat. He looked into Hutch’s eyes. “I never thought of it that way, but yeah, maybe he would have given it to me after all.” Hutch held an endearing smile. Starsky lowered his eyes, and nodded affirmatively, looking out at incoming waves. A small tear leaked onto his cheek and he wiped it himself. “I was so young, Hutch, and I never could look at my feelings after that, I just couldn’t. Especially after he died.”
Hutch patted his knee. “I know, Babe, I know.”
With this revelation, Hutch hoped Starsky was beginning the repairing process. Starsky got up, wiped sand off his backside and paced a little, rather drunkenly. Hutch waited. Starsky went to put his hands in his coat pocket, and suddenly yelled out, “Auugh! Ow!” as his father’s badge fell in the sand. He lurched back like he saw a snake.
Hutch jumped up, grabbed Starsky to keep him steady, then sat him down again on the rock. He picked up the badge, wiped the sand from it, and went to hand it to him.
“NO! I don’t want it, it just did THAT, look!” Starsky had a little blood on his palm where the shield’s pin had pricked him.
Damn, he’s so cute. Still such an imp. Hutch had to hold back a tiny laugh. “Starsky, it’s not alive, it didn’t do anything…”
Starsky was furious, flailing his arms wildly. “You don’t get it, do you, all this, the shirt, book, the glove, that kid, Diaz getting killed–”
“Starsk–”
“Hey, you know Spanish, Diaz means DIE!”
“It means ‘dies” in Latin, Starsk, not Spanish…”
“Don’t give me your college boy bullshit–”
“Starsky, Diaz didn’t die, he pulled through!” Hutch didn’t know how he was going stop his catastrophical thinking, but it was getting him on edge.
“You don’t understand, Hutch, it’s like my father sent me that stuff!”
“No, Starsk, your mother did,” he said didactically.
“Very funny, go ahead, make fun.” Starsky stood up, frantic. “It’s a call from the grave and you know it!”
“Okay, OKAY, it might be from the grave, if that’s how you want to take it, but it doesn’t mean that it’s to it!” They both needed a break, and turned away from each other.
Hutch sighed harshly, closed his eyes, and tried to gather himself. Let the love come through, he needs you. He put the badge in his own pocket, opposite of the other one he had in the other pocket. Absurdly, he felt like Monty Hall, the game show host, he couldn’t seem to get rid of these things. He turned back and saw Starsky peering at him, with a soaring need to belong; it sobered Hutch’s heart.
He walked over gently. “Why do you see your father’s badge being given to you as a sign its time for you to die? Why don’t you see it as a sign from him to heal? Omens, Starsk, can be bad or good. It is how you perceive their power, not how their power pours over you.”
“How do I know, then? I just can’t figure this all out by myself! ” Starsky was sorry the minute he uttered it. Hutch eyes opened bright, but he recovered quickly. He let what was said go. He was involved too, and he knew it. So much so, he knew he was part of the answer, from the time Starsky first laid on his lap. Omen, prophetic significance, of course. He rubbed the badges in his pockets. They were emboldening him.
Hutch looked at the waves picking up pace. He saw a crystalloid light trail twinkling at their edges as they closed in. It was fleeting, delicate, yet purposeful. Love is the answer, this sparkling love. All that has come to pass has been entwined, including us. He came closer to Starsky and looked deep into his lost puppy stare. He put his long balmy fingers on his cheeks. Starsky gasped, tensed. Hutch took his perfectly warmed lips, bent over and kissed his forehead. He stepped back, but let his fingers linger.
“You do know, we know. You haven’t been figuring any of this out by yourself. You, me, we have something your father didn’t have, our partnership!” Hutch looked up to the moon that lit the edges of Starsky’s sweet curls. His heart rushed with utopian euphoria. He gazed into Starsky’s eyes, peering midnight blue met morning blue. “Do you really have any idea how rare what we have is? We’re more than just a team, Starsk, we’re matched. Your skills, mine, our connection. All these years, since we met, how we’ve worked on the streets, how we are as friends, how we converse with our minds, how we’re taking things to a new place, don’t you see? You’re finding out all of this now, because it’s Me and Thee.” He smiled, somehow peace was tickling his heart. He took his fingers away.
Starsky trembled, he was still holding on to his childhood, but these shattered remnants were losing their power. “But how can we really know? All the signs!”
“Starsk…there are coincidences, yes, but it’s different, you’re an individual person, born in another time, you can’t live your life through another person’s mirror, you learn from the past, but you evolve! Your life is not his life. You survived Gunther because I survived Gunther. Don’t you understand you had me and I had you? It’s our history, not just your history, even what’s happened to me as a kid brought me right here, right now, right to your side!”
The moonlight was animating the waves like Christmas. Starsky moved away, frazzled. Hutch made sense, but he was struggling with all the pieces. They both looked at the ocean, not each other. Starsky shook his head no, waved his right arm, at first quickly, trying to push it all away. Then he slowed his movements, his will to hold on to his thoughts seemed circled and silly, he just wanted to surrender to Hutch’s logic, to their togetherness, to their touch. He dropped his defenses, and let his arm extend out. He looked up at the stars, reaching out, telepathically asking Hutch to take his hand. Hutch heard him, without even looking, took his left palm and enrobed it with his own. Their souls locked, and brought calm.
They looked at each other and smiled together for the first time this night.
Starsky turned towards him and snickered slightly. “Boy, you’re embarrassing me. What you said, about us, you’ve given our relationship a lot more thought than I have. I’ve been so preoccupied with, well, like you said, ‘my issues’, that I’ve missed the chance to look at the good things, the greatness of things, about you and me.”
Hutch had a clearing sputter. “It’s okay, buddy, you can catch up on all the good stuff. You’re going to have plenty of time, when you’re not letting some oracle plan your demise.” Starsky gave him a questioning look, he hoped he wasn’t being made fun of. But as Hutch watched the waves off his right shoulder, the blond’s coloring was part of the water’s bridled dance, angelic defused white sparkles lighting up his hair. Starsky couldn’t take his eyes off him. He watched Hutch take Starsky’s hand to his heart, then he raised it to his mouth and sucked a kiss upon it for three seconds with his eyes closed. He rubbed his cheek across it before he met Starsky’s eyes again. Starsky skipped a breath. Oh, My Hutch, you’re so beautiful when you do that.
“I have to tell you something, Hutch.”
“Hmm?”
He murmured just above the sound of the waves, “I don’t know how I could live without your thinking, the way you say things, your…poetry.” Hutch turned a shade of butter cream.
Starsky felt a whisper of joy trickle into his core. He came closer. “So we’re sure, that we found what all this means?” He raised his eyebrows up in question.
“We don’t have to, partner, it found you…”
Starsky swallowed, his Adam’s apple hurting again, peering at Hutch, wanting the answer.
It’s time. “Your badge, Starsk…the one we threw in the ocean that day, on this beach, so many months ago, that’s your sign. Look, it’s right here.” With that, he pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Hutch slowly opened his long fingers, displaying the scruffy but still shiny brass symbol. Lovingly, he took Starsky trembling palm, opened his hand and placed his hand in his, the badge cupped between them, warm and true. Starsky raised their enfolded grip, opening it as Hutch did the same, and stared, looking up to Hutch’s warm eyes for reassurance. Bay City P.D. Number 82. He couldn’t believe it. A good sign, a good omen. Oh, God, but how? What kind of miracle– Tears welled and fell on his cheeks.
“And yours, where’s—”
It’s right here, my love, it’s yours too…”
He entwined their fingers and held them sweetly in a tender, loving grip. Raising their palms to his sternum, he softly said, “My badge, it’s m-my heart. All for you”.
The roar and lick of the ocean’s breath was the only response between them. Starsky was frozen, minutes had stopped, he felt something eternal bloom in his soul. Hutch wanted Starsky to understand, “You see, Starsk, if all those things that your mother sent were ‘signs’ that were sent to you, that triggered your memories and your fears, then the return of your badge is a sign too. I see it as a sign of our going forward with our life, not stuck living someone else’s plan for us. You pierced my heart the day we met, and I belong here, I belong to you.”
Reverently, Hutch took both badges, one from Starsky’s hands, one from his left pocket. Never losing eye contact with his partner, he brought the shields together, and opened the heavy pins. “Let me,” he pledged, “let me tie them on, together, real close to you…” Slowly, Hutch reached for Starsky’s leather neck strap, that held his Chinese coins. He placed his father’s badge on first, clasping it securely. The cool metal gently pressed directly upon his upper scar. Starsky winced ever so slightly, but couldn’t move. Hutch gathered his thoughts, searching for symbolism.
“It’s okay, buddy, let it heal you. This is your past, your foundation, your innocence.”
“Oh, God, Hutch…”
Hutch placed the beautiful worn BCPD badge beside the other, and stroked Starsky’s neckline in supplication.
“And this, this is– it’s your present, your emergence.”
Starsky lowered his chin and felt the two metal shields, pressing them to his throat as if they were Olympic medals. Starsky peered at Hutch as if his soul had also been pierced open, and truly set free.
Overwhelmed, he raised his tearful eyes and gazed into the most beautiful blond-framed face in the whole world. “I’m so full, I–Babe, I know, I–, oh, Hutch, and you, you’re the future, Hutch, you’re my essence!”
This time, it would be Starsky who lunged forward and planted the most ravaging kiss on Hutch’s cooler lips. Hutch stepped back enough to lose his balance, but Starsky grabbed him mercilessly and swung him forward a few steps closer to the water, ankle, shin and then knee deep. The resistance of the ocean rushed up their torsos as the heat of their kiss filtered down into their lungs. Hutch panted, mouth upon mouth, Starsky pressing up with his lips, then pushing down with his face, wanting more, grasping for the collar of Hutch’s shirt. Writhing, they rushed upon each other with all their masculine strength. We’ve been so far, we worked so hard for this. Releasing, they stared with moonlight shimmering in their eyes. They recognized the harmony of their spirits, the enthralled passion that would consume them both. There wasn’t room for anymore words, only engulfment of arms and embraces, fingers groping for buttons and shirts and buckles and belts and pockets.
Standing, caressing, they circled each other as they continued to enter the water. The tide was coming in, bringing the scent of warriors and seafarers to the air. Their kisses slowed, languished lips traveled lower, nuzzling in each other’s shoulders and neck. They were desperate isolated paramours that horizons had separated, that in time, wave by wave, battle by battle, had recaptured their ground. Their spoils were the possession of each other, famished with infatuation.
Liquid surrounded them, soothing this aching reunion. “We’re Here,” Hutch choked, “we’re together!”
“I feel like we’re one, Hutch, each the other…I think, I think I’m whole now.” Hutch was overrun with emotion, seeking Starsky’s face, his lines laughing, lines frowning, falling into Starsky’s embrace like the day he had lost Gillian. But this time, it was a joyous relief, as if his life meaning had been revealed. He cradled this precious man into his chest as if they had met after years of absence.
In response, Starsky’s defenses collapsed. He was starved with need. He had found his inner self, at Hutch’s insistence, so thankful that Hutch had never given up on him. He kissed Hutch’s face with tiny nose bumps and gentle kisses that reminded him how small he still felt compared to Hutch’s knowing spirit.
Starsky reached for Hutch’s face with both hands. “I need something from you. I need you to be with me, start my life anew, our life, together.” Hutch’s eyes sought his. ” Oh, Hutch, please…take me, make me come home!”
Hutch was put upon, but he understood after Starsky had hidden his terrors how important it was to give Starsky this, here, now, on their beach. To no longer be afraid. These waters had absorbed their disgust for the force, their throwing their badges away, in what they naively thought was their worst hour. They could not have known then they had tempted fate to teach them a lesson for their arrogance, that would cost them years of physical recoupment. Now even that deliverance had been easier to face, than the battle for their emotional wholeness. Hutch’s years of isolation, his masked exterior, the cool rage burning his insides, all that childhood sadness. Shutting down was what he thought it was to be a man. Sympatric, Starsky’s journey took a feverish toll on his identity, recklessly avoiding pain, creating a boy child stuck in male innuendo. But the sea had given back an emblem of hope, and merged two lives into one with its gift. Now Hutch knew on this night, there was one more emanation the sea would provide.
Indeed, neither man had emerged unscathed from their life lessons. A child cannot return the losses committed upon him, a teenager would never have his father back, or a youth the only genuine love he’d known at the death of his grandparent. But the ocean calls from an eternal place and washes everything with its salty truths.
Starsky was gently pulling on him, nuzzling his chest, opening Hutch shirt, aching to touch his skin. Tenderly placing his hand on Hutch sternum, he glanced up anxiously. They stopped moving, and just looked into each other, their eyes lit by the trembling water’s reflection. Moving both hands, they clasped to each others elbows. Hutch waited for Starsky to speak, there was something in his gaze that asked for reverent attention.
“Hutch…”, Starsky began, “In my grandmother’s religion, I remember being told about ‘mikvah’, a bathing place, connected to a natural water source, for kind of a water ritual, an immersion. It’s supposed to cleanse you, I think it was called tevilah.”
Hutch listened intensely. “Do you mean like a baptism? Being born again?”
“Well, sort of. My parents weren’t that religious, but I remember some. I’ve read a little about it. Some say it’s more like a sprinkling, a symbol. For a new life, purifying. This is what I want tonight to be.”
Hutch tilted his head, his soft blond locks in motion in the wind. Starsky reached for them, gingerly. He took Hutch’s hands and clasped them into his own. “I know we haven’t admitted this yet…” Simultaneously, they both merged closer, knowing what would be said. Starsky whispered “Oh, Hutch, I…I’m so in love with…I love you…”
Hutch gasped, holding his breath. “I know, oh Dear Starsk, I know, I love you, I know I’m in love too, the love I was born for…” They both shuddered at each other’s words, so rushed and overdue, nuzzling each other.
Starsky held his partner’s hands even tighter, turning, guiding them into the surf further, until they were thigh deep. With his eyes never leaving Hutch’s gaze, he slowly knelt into the water, as graceful as a fawn. Hutch watched him mesmerized. Starsky peered up at his golden Apollo, while Hutch beheld his lover’s seraphic features lit by the two shields, ablaze in the moonlight.
“Let me, Hutch, I’m so famished for you, I want to taste your soul.” Starsky reached for his partner’s jeans. Hutch shivered as he was unbuttoned, the zipper lowered. Starsky let out a small cry as he let the clothing fall, and revealed his treasure. The breeze startled Hutch’s skin, and made his whole groin quiver, filling his shaft with thickness quickly.
Hutch looked down, and wondered how he could ever have lived without Starsky’s desire for him, culpable to what had happened to his partner as a child, for Starsky to have developed such apotheosis. He was speechless, delirious with affection. He would let Starsky take him, knowing he needed to let him lead through this ceremony of his devotion.
Starsky wet his hands in the tepid water and coated his partner’s upper thighs with agitated waves. He took his visual fill of Hutch’s hardness, his length and shape, overcome by the thought of its potential power. The golden skin tone of his Nordic roots was rare, stunning as he could not have imagined. Flushed, Starsky stroked the sides of Hutch’s cock with tenuous touches, leaning forward to inhale the blending of his virile musk with the sea’s salty mist.
Hutch had to raise his eyes to the moonlight above him, it was too much, as Starsky fervently grasped the base of his cock and placed his mouth on the tip. With a moan, he was engulfed in lips so warm and willing that his legs shifted helplessly in the tide. Starsky’s mouth was wanton, gentle, then firm and saturate. It sent shivers through him like a neon illumination–colorful, jagged dizziness overwhelmed his mind. He never knew such an envelopment of fierce pleasure by this act with anyone else.
Starsky murmured grunts Hutch had never heard before, as he licked earnestly. Starsky’s lips danced and careened at the head with longing, while his hands explored his mate’s thighs and buttocks. Hutch placed his hands in his partner’s locks, caressing the damp curls, while he tugged him heedfully, entering further. Together, they began to emulate the rhythm of the lapping waves, the sound alone of slapping, stirring water vivified them both.
Hutch was losing dominion, as Starsky brought his arms around him, between his cheeks, and spread his legs further apart. He rasped, “Oh Starsk, My Starsk, your mouth…its so beautiful, you’re ravishing me!” Starsky brought his briny hand to Hutch’s supple sacs and cupped them in his palm, as his mouth opened and slid to the crown, suckling.
It was more than Hutch could bear. Buckling, he stiffened, his manhood swelling, pulsating and expanding all at once. A ream of icy fire gushed through his veins, inundating his mind, flooding his membranes, speeding through his legs. “Ohh, oh God, Starsky, back up, I’m ready–” This is yours. Suddenly, he knew, this was to be the baptism Starsky wanted. He grabbed his groin and aimed it at him, as a wave lapped and prodded his anal area, the sensation so intoxicating. With a generous outcry, Hutch spurred his thick climax, spraying the seed of his being across his partner’s hair, face, neck and throat. Spent beyond belief, he swooned, losing all use of his legs, plummeting to his knees in the grainy sand, immersed to his chest, emaciated. Sagging forward, Starsky snatched him into waiting arms, both men splashed by the incoming tide, doused over their head, folding simultaneously into one pulsation. “Starsky, Starsky, my love,” Hutch sobbed. Seizing Starsky, he kissed the soused face, wiping his palms across his cheeks, and rubbing his forehead across every plane of his features.
Hallowed, enthralled, Starsky could not speak, his breathing distressed with excitement. Still kneeling, Hutch clutched him close, and plunged his tongue into his ear, his earlobe and the small of his neckline as the influx of foam and water tantalized his pounded crotch. Hutch unzipped his lover’s hardness, and set his erect glands afloat in the tendrils of the waves. Pressing himself to him, grinding against his groin, he clenched his rotund buttocks with unfathomed voracity. With one squeeze of his firm cheeks, Starsky could no longer fight such seduction, writhing to a crest. He cried out Hutch’s name, as he hastened to an elongated ecstasy he never envisioned his body could amass, spouting his semen like a screaming stream into the sea…
Upon one final ardent kiss, they crawled towards the beach, to higher ground, pulling on clothing, shoulders and waistbands, in a final rustle through the ocean’s swell. Their breathing still jagged, Hutch was taken aback when Starsky began laughing, unrestrainedly joyous, giggling to tears. It was infectious. “What, what are you, what are we chuckling about, Babe?”
“Oh, Hutch, I just never thought, never thought I’d…” More sputtered giggling.
Hutch’s heart was so full of this gorgeous happiness of a man that he was about to melt through the earth’s core. He tried again, “Wha–”
“Hutch, I just love ya, that’s all, ‘FROM HERE TO ETERNITY,’ cause you finally–”
Hutch finished his sentence, “Because WE rolled all over in the sand and kissed in the surf!” Hutch slapped himself on the forehead, bubbling like a blowfish. They both fell backwards in delight. Wait until Huggy hears about this.
=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=
The Torino’s engine purred to a final stop a half block from Huggy’s bar. “Looks like everybody from Parker’s here, Huggy should make a mint tonight!” Starsky joked. He looked over at his partner and gave his knee a squeeze. Hutch smiled sweetly. “Come on, I’m starving!” They locked her up and headed for the main entrance.
Right before they went in, Hutch tapped on Starsky’s shoulder and he turned. He had to be sure.
“Starsk, you okay? About this party? You know you have to pretend you’re surprised, right? Do it for the guys, okay?”
“Hey, don’t worry, I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m just adding tonight to the list.” Starsky was bouncy. He was in his best mood to get a rise out of his partner.
“Wha-what list?”
“Oh, my ‘100 Things to Do When I Turn Thirty-five‘ list.” Hutch popped his eyes open. Starsky reached for the door to the Pits, and prodded Hutch inside while whispering in his ear, “I’ll need ya when I get to sixty-nine.”
Dobey met the red-faced blond at the door. “Hey, you two, come have a seat!” innocently teasing, “Hutchinson, you spending too much time laying on the beach? You’re all flushed.” What the- Hutch felt his cheeks turning crimson.
“Yeah, Cap’n, I keep telling him he’s a regular Scarlett n’o Hair.”
“O’Hara, you moron!” Hutch retorted, unheard over the outburst of song and merriment. Huggy brought him a beer immediately, and elbowed him in jest. Hutch recovered quickly, as Starsky gave him a wink. A half-dozen officers gobbled up the curly man and passed him from arm pat to shoulder tug, over to the set up of long tables.
Dobey and Hutch sat across from Starsky and started passing out plates and fries.
“Hey, Starsky! I see you’re wearing the old man’s shield!” Turner ribbed. All smiles, Starsky nodded affirmatively.
“Starsky, think you’ll get as many arrests on the books as he did? Maybe beat his record? You’ve made a great comeback, that’s for sure!” Edwards handed over a bowl of pretzels.
“Yeah, you make us proud to work with you, hey, wonder if that badge number he had is your lucky number!” Babcock punched him lightly on the arm.
He looked down at the badge briefly, stroked it and smiled. Fondling it, he thought it was silly to look for some hidden meaning. “I’m through with looking for similarities, guys. I’m just glad to be at Metro, with all of you, and with the best partner in the world!” They all tipped their glass. Cheers ensued. “There ya go, right on!” Babcock said.
Hutch felt his face get a little hot at all the attention, as Turner elbowed him. Watching his partner, Hutch took a swig of his beer and grinned. His eyes met the shiny shield. Suddenly, he softly stitched the smallest open mouth gasp. The number he thought, as he stared at it. 0837. Wow, Starsk, it IS an oracle.
Hutch swallowed, fingering his chest above the button line. Backwards, Starsky’s birthday, July 3rd. And the year, 1980, this very year. The year Starsky came back onto the force, the year they healed, the year they found their true love, their new life together. The first day of the rest of their lives. He placed his hands around his beer glass and reflected. Through the laughter and good will, his eyes misted, as he looked at Starsky from across the table. Surrounded by the best crew they’ve ever worked with, they were still the only two people in the room. Starsky cocked his head ever so slightly, raising his eyebrows, sending the sweetest message through his gaze. He was asking, Yes, Hutch? Hutch returned the mind meld with a small blink. I’ll tell you later, Hutch thought, smiling the humblest smile.
End
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