Behind Blue Eyes

195

Chapter 1 

No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man

To be the sad man

Behind Blue Eyes…

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‘Today, you are a man.” The Rabbi’s words echoed mockingly in his memory. David Starsky sniffed back tears, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He was hot; he removed his shirt to gain some relief, but to no avail. In the three months since he had left New York for California and this place, he’d never quite gotten used to the weather here. One day it was warm, then the next, cold. Sometimes, that was all in one day. They said this was normal spring. Nothing like New York, where once it was spring, it was spring, no going back.

Then there was the rain. Wasn’t California eternal sunshine? Never Rains in California, they said. That’s all there was since getting here in April.

Another lie to add to the tally.

He wondered what he would be doing now back in New York. It was nearing the end of June, the school would be letting out, and He would have the whole summer off, running the streets and playing baseball at the park and annoying his little brother Nicky, staying out of mom’s hair and out of reach of her wooden spoon when he was caught.

“It’ll just be for a little while, Davey.”

He’d wanted to scream, to demand why he had to be sent away.

‘Uncle’ Joe Durniak had convinced his mother that it would be for the best after he was caught with a couple of neighborhood boys who wanted him to join their gang. Joe and his mom would’ve never known if Nicky hadn’t snitched on him. Stupid kid, what did he know about the street? Sometimes you had to do what you had to do to survive.

“You can write and tell us how you’re doing. It’s a wonderful school, by all accounts.”

Except all mail was scrutinized, outgoing or incoming. And ‘Uncle’ Joe Durniak was a fuckin’ liar.

It was his second time in ‘isolation,’ and it didn’t help that it was his fault. He’d learned early on that it wasn’t smart to talk back, and what he’d considered a legitimate concern had got him a rap over the knuckles. His objection to that had earned him a stay in isolation. So here he was in the cramped and stuffy room, dark and windowless, without knowing how long he had been there… With the rest of his possessions, his precious watch had been taken away upon arrival. His father had given him the watch when he turned thirteen at his Bar Mitzvah.

“Today you are a man….”

When he first arrived after the long plane journey, the nice flight attendant gave him a candy bar, ruffled his hair, and told him to be good. Then he was handed over like a parcel to a man in uniform, who had verified his name but answered no questions. They talked over his head at the school, except to check details. “David Michael Starsky? Welcome to St. Jude’s.”

He was given a haircut and a shower.

He’d been handed two sets of the school uniform — khaki pants and shirt to replace the clothes he’d taken off — and escorted along a bewildering maze of corridors to be locked in this room. No explanation, then.

He was still numb from all that had happened, confused, scared, and increasingly angry as the numbness wore off.

He felt betrayed.

He’d learned. He’d learned very well, indeed. Keep your head down. Don’t make waves.

But as he became accustomed to this new existence, he found some of his old rebellious spirit returning, the rebel that was David Starsky reawakening.

There were rules and regulations, some of which made little sense and could be bent if not broken. If you broke them, the next thing was to avoid getting found out. If you were found out, you took whatever punishment without complaint. You gained a reputation, as David had on the streets of New York, that it was unwise to cross a Starsky.

While his father was alive, he kept his nose clean. He would have died before doing anything to embarrass the man he idolized.

And he’d kept to that.

Until that afternoon when he’d seen his father gunned down on the streets…

His mother had needed someone to lean on, then, a man. And at fourteen, whatever the Rabbi said, David Starsky was not yet a man.

Enter Joe Durniak. A supposed friend of his father. Some friend! What would his dad say, knowing “his friend” sent his son away from everything he knew?

Joe Durniak, who had paid for everything. Who had stood at the graveside during the funeral. Who had ‘arranged’ for David to be shipped to California and the ‘wonderful’ school that was St. Jude’s…

David Starsky would trust Joe Durniak no further than he could spit a rat.

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“Hugo, my honey, c’n you take the new kid his dinner ?”

Hugo Brown, the unofficial kitchen helper, dried his hands and draped the kitchen towel over the rack.

“Sure thing, Aunt Bea,” he chirped, picking up the boxed ‘dinner’ already prepared. “What’he’do?”

“Cheeked one of the teachers, I heard. Kid’s got a smart mouth but not a lick of common sense.” Bea shook her head. Hugo grinned. From what his Aunt told him, this would be the second time the new kid had been sentenced to several days in the Hole, which was how the other residents referred to the isolation room. Hugo picked up the tray and sniffed; at least it was a meal.

Once he arrived at the room, He found a skinny kid with a bad haircut glowering at him from where he was crouched in the far corner.

“Hey,” he said, “Brought you lunch.”

A grunt was the only reply.

“Name’s Hugo,” he volunteered, as the boy looked askance at the offering of two slices of bread with a slice of mystery meat and water, “but m’ friends call me Huggy Bear. Never have figured out why.”

“Starsky. Dave Starsky,” was the muttered response. “This is lunch?”

“Yeah, doesn’t look like much, huh? Dinner is usually better, m’man, though not by much. I snagged you a dessert, anyhow.” It might only have been an apple, but it was almost snatched from his hand. “So where d’you hail from, Starsky? Or d’you prefer Dave?”

“New York. Brooklyn. And it’s Dave.” He had disposed of the sandwich and the apple. Core and all. “You a pupil here?”

Huggy snorted a laugh. “Me? Won’t see many black folks round here, just me an’ m’auntie Bea. No, I’m kitchen help. Here for the summer. Idle hands cause trouble, my mamma said before handing me off to my Auntie.”

“Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a proverb my ma used to say all the time, too, just before handing me a broom or a mop.”

They both smiled, knowing personally what trouble boys could get into.

“Hear tell you got a rep, Davey. That why you’re here?”

“I don’t know why I’m here. Ma said I’d be safer here than back home, but that’s a crock of shit. I think she wanted me outa the way.” Grateful for a listening ear, he poured out his story.

“Your dad was a cop?” Huggy gave a low whistle. “And killed in the line? Man, that’s hard.”

“Gunned down in the street.” It still hurt. Starsky thought it always would. The young black hunkered next to him shook his head.

“Any idea who was responsible?”

David didn’t look at him. “Don’t know. I’m just a kid.” the last was said in a mocking tone, “But someone does. And someday I won’t be a kid, and when I find out….” His hands had balled into fists.

“Yeah, well, you’ll be cooling your heels in the Hole for another day.” Huggy shook his head; he felt for the kid, but what could he do, being just a kid himself? “Listen, I gotta go. Don’t let them grind you down, you dig?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Davey replied, turning his back to Huggy.

Huggy watched him for a second before turning to leave, a smile forming along with an idea to help cheer the kid up.

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“Hey, Brooklyn,” Huggy said later that evening, unlocking the door. “Managed to score you some extra goodies.”

“Hey, you’re back?” David Starsky, aka Brooklyn, uncurled himself and stretched.

Hugo, aka Huggy, dumped the box and emptied his pockets, adding a banana, an apple, and a cornbread muffin to the chicken leg, carrots, and green beans that comprised the dinner. Then, with a flourish reminiscent of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, he capped the lot with a Snickers bar. “Ta-da!”

“Oh, man, how did you find all this? You’re a prince!”

“I have my ways; I have my ways.” Young Huggy smiled, satisfied he had done the right thing. “Stick with me, Davey, and I’ll show you the ropes.”

The food was welcome. Although the cuisine left something to be desired, Huggy’s Aunt Bea was a mistress of making the best of the available ingredients. The students were all growing boys, after all.

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As the summer stretched into July, then August, Davey found Huggy to be a friend and that, while strict, the place wasn’t too bad. The teachers had little to complain about, though insubordination got him paddled a few times and condemned to solitary a few more times because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and got in a few fights. David eventually learned the ropes and adjusted to the unfamiliar environment. Starsky’s fellow students quickly recognized that he could not be bullied. Soon, Davey made friends with some students and faculty.

When all the work around the school was done, including summer school work, the students were left to themselves. Seeing a baseball game on the grassy field behind the school wasn’t unusual most afternoons. Some afternoons Huggy was there providing some scheme or devising some other mischief they never got caught doing.

When school started again after Labor Day, Huggy only came on the weekends. Starsky started to find another routine: days filled with classwork during the day, clean-up duties in the afternoon, then dinner and homework before lights out became the standards. The school curriculum was easy once he got the hang of it, and he liked most of the teachers, especially Mrs. Juarez, his math teacher. She didn’t get angry at him when he couldn’t get the problems right, the numbers were mixed up, or he liked to stand or not sit correctly in his chair.

Fall turned into December, and David was doing well. In his mind, he figured out that the better he did, the more likely he could get out of this place and go home. His mom may come to get him or at least visit, as promised in one of her letters.

But she didn’t come, and he didn’t go home. A letter from home and a call to New York on the last night of Chanukah dashed those dreams to pieces.

“But Ma, you promised….”

“Davey, I’m sorry, I know what I said, but….”

“Fine.” He spoke into the receiver before hanging it up. He didn’t want to hear any more of it, another excuse for letdowns and lies. He kicked the wall as he walked back to his room. When his door wouldn’t open right away, he took his anger out on it till it opened, which it did before bouncing off the wall and swinging back at him as he tried to pass through the door jam.

With a curse and holding his head, David pushed the door open again, more gently this time.

“Serves you right, treating poor innocent door like that. N’ver did anything to ya, now did it?”

“Fuck you, Huggy.” David glowered over his shoulder as he entered his room.

“Oh, such language on such a festive evening.”

“It’s not very festive, and Christmas is still four days away.”

“I was talking about your holiday, the one that’s been around way before a little man in a red suit was shimmyin’ down chimneys.”

David sprawled on his bed, one arm slung over his face “Huggy, what do you want.”

“Well, I thought you might like to hear what’s got the staff tongues wagging.”

Interest piqued, David sat up, inviting Huggy to sit on the bed next to him. “I’ve heard them whisper since Christmas break started.”

“Well, with good reason, a new Math teacher arrived today,” Huggy said, settling for a chat.

“A what!? What happened to Mrs. Jaurez?”

“She’s in the family way; they had to let her go.”

“Family way…” Starsky gave Huggy a confused look before he figured out, “Oh, she’s gonna have a baby. But that’s not right.”

“Them’s the rules, Brooklyn,” Huggy shrugged…

“What about this new guy? Did you see him?”

“Oh, I met him, alright. Man, he’s a weird one. Talks like the King of England and like he’s got a stick up his ass. We peasants, are beneath his notice. Auntie says he’s an equal opportunity hater. Y’know? Hates anyone who isn’t a W.A.S.P. Micks, niggahs, Kikes, Polacks… Bet he’s got a white hood in his baggage.”

The two boys sniggered.

“Gonna miss Mrs. Juarez, though,” David said.

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Adele Juarez was quite misty-eyed as she packed the last of her belongings into the cardboard box. She was three months pregnant, didn’t show at all yet, but had been given no choice about having to resign her position as a Math teacher. Oh, she could return at some point; she was assured, if she wanted to. But the rapport she had built up with her pupils would be gone…

“Have you got everything, ‘Del?” Sonja Matthews, head of English, cast an eye over the empty desk.

“I think so. And I am kind of sorry to be leaving. I just wish I could chalk up a few more successes….”

Sonja chuckled. “Like young David. I know. But you can’t win them all, ‘Del.”

Adele closed the box. “I know that. But he’s such a bright boy. I still can’t quite believe what we were told when he arrived….”

“Tendency for violent behavior,” Sonja quoted. “Unstable. No, I’ve seen no sign of either.”

“And as for being developmentally backward… Well, that’s a crock of shit, and I told Principal DeSoto.” She gave an unladylike snort as she named the Principal.

” I agree. But we can only go on what we were told. David didn’t have too much trouble with the work, though he struggled initially. His English is excellent, and he reads well above his grade level.”

“But sadly, Math is apparently a closed book.” She sighed. “I did wonder if it was just that he was a slow learner, but he’s bright enough with his other subjects.”

“Maybe Professor Burton will be able to offer extra help.” She named Adele’s replacement as head of Math.”

“Maybe. I’ll tell you where that boy does excel, though. The sports field. I was watching the other afternoon with Coach Longden. He runs like a deer….”

 

Chapter 2 

The newest math teacher, Mr. Burton, had not been in post long before it became obvious that he and David were not on the same page. As the months passed from winter into spring, everyone noticed that they were not on the same page and not even in the same book. Where Adele Juarez had been patient with her reluctant pupil, Geoffrey Burton had no patience at all.

Was the young Starsky ignorant or just plain lazy?

None of the other teachers had the same problem as him. Burton saw how they coddled the boy and let him escape with almost anything. Even giving the young man a small cake and a trip off campus with two of his classmates and that black hoodlum.

It made him furious. Enablers all of them, that wasn’t what David needed. He needed discipline and a strong male hand to correct his insubordination and his disrespect. The other boys understood, knew what he wanted, and consequences were meted out if he wasn’t followed.

What made it worse was that the boy was so devilishly attractive. He didn’t flaunt it, seemed unconscious of it. But Burton was drawn to him as a moth to a flame. He himself was nondescript in looks, tall enough to intimidate his students but otherwise forgettable. He cultivated a silent, gliding walk, a clipped accent, and a strict disciplinarian reputation.

David’s left-handedness was a mark against him. His handwriting was poor anyway, but it was nearly unintelligible if forced to use his right hand. That and his failure to gain any grade higher than an ‘F’ in Math by the end of the school year grated on Burton.

If the boy had been in any way amenable to his teacher’s interest…

But it was clear he wasn’t.

Burton recognized in himself the beginnings of an obsession. It was time to act.

He chose a time the boy would be alone, after class, when David’s habit was to spend an hour on the track, sometimes alone, sometimes with a friend or two, when the more athletic of the students would enjoy a modicum of freedom. Games of tag and impromptu races all helped burn off any excess energy. It was rarely unsupervised, of course. And this evening, David was running laps on the track, unaccompanied.

Burton followed him to the locker room, waiting until he heard the shower turn on before entering. From his vantage point, just inside the door, he could see David, but the boy could not see him. The teacher smiled to himself as he watched, matching the boy’s movements as the boy’s hands spread soap over the young body. He imagined what it would be like to be the one touching, caressing, and touching.

He lost himself in the moment, easily drawing on past experiences and placing the young man right in the middle of those memories.

So young, so beautiful.

He was drawn back to the present when he heard the shower cut off, and he moved further behind some lockers, watching and waiting. His target exited the showers, the towel over his shoulder and nothing else.

“Cocky son of a Bitch,” Burton hissed angrily, and David must have heard because the boy stopped mid-stride, wrapping the towel around his waist.

“Who’s there?” David asked, looking towards where he thought he heard the sound come from. “Dammit, Huggy, if that is you, this isn’t funny….” His friend had played similar jokes on him in the past, hiding and then jumping out at the last moment, but this time the chill and goosebumps he felt told him it wasn’t Huggy.

Mr. Burton stepped around the lockers he was hiding behind, “I’m sorry, David, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Mr. Burton?” David questioned, looking over his shoulder back to where he came from, before turning narrowed eyes back towards the math teacher. He had heard rumors amongst the other boys in his grade level, rumors that told him there were reasons not to be left alone with this teacher beyond his general dislike of the man.

“What do you want?” It didn’t take a genius to know what Burton was doing behind the lockers. David cinched the towel tighter around his waist and opened his locker. He ignored Burton’s approach until the man was beside him.

“David,” he began, “I feel we’ve started on the wrong foot. You’re a bright boy, clearly, and your other teachers think highly of you. I’m willing to work with you to improve your grades.” There was no response from the youngster as he quickly got dressed; pants and a shirt quickly covered the young body. David tossed the masking towel aside before sitting again and pulling on his shoes.

Tying the laces on his sneakers, the dark head bent in concentration. Burton eyed the silky curls, damp from the shower, and how the t-shirt clung to the slim torso.

Seeing him running on the track, the strong legs out-distancing his competitors: the cocky strut as he headed for the showers, laughing at something a comrade said: what a contrast to his behavior in Math class, when the startlingly blue eyes were hooded in dislike and the mouth a sullen line… he wanted to feel that strong young body moving under him, force that rebellious spirit into submission, use him as he pleased… “David, I am waiting for an apology from you. And we can have a fresh start. What do you say?”

“No.” It was a mutter.

“What did you say?”

“You deaf, sir? I said no . No, thanks.”

Burton took a seat beside him on the long bench. “Come now, boy; you don’t want to be a loser all your life, do you?” He reached out and laid a casual hand on the closest knee. The youngster froze. Encouraged, Burton inched his hand upward, feeling the lean strength of the thigh under his fingers. Stroking. His breath came hard. “We could be good friends, you and I, David….”

“Take your fuckin’ hands off me!” It was a deadly whisper, and the blue eyes blazed with fury. The boy wrenched away, making for the door, but Burton moved faster and pinned his victim against the wall. David fought him, but the man was taller and stronger, and his attempt to knee him in the balls was off-target but still enough to infuriate him.

“ You little hellion — !”

He twisted one of the boy’s arms behind him, forcing him down, and pulled his own belt loose with the other hand.

David couldn’t hold back the cry when the buckle tore into his back a second later.

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Huggy only marginally avoided being hit by the violently swinging door as Professor Burton stormed out, his belt dangling from his hand.

“Man’s in a hurry,” Huggy said to himself and instinctively slipped inside the room. He’d have thought it was empty, but for the uneven breathing, and he tracked that to where David was curled in a fetal position in the far corner. “Oh, geez, Brooklyn….” He could see splotches of blood on the back of the white t-shirt. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened. He knelt down, touching the flinching shoulders gingerly. “That honky bastard… You gotta report him, Dave.”

“No.” Wincing, David pushed himself up. “No, Hug. Who’s gonna believe me over him?”

“But, man, you’re hurt….”

“I want out of here,” he said through his teeth. “Out of this fuckin’ place. Can you help me, Hug?”

Huggy sat back on his heels. He could see the pain and sweat on his friend’s face, thought fast, and made his decision. “Okay. C’n you walk, Brooklyn? There’s no one in the Hole right now, so you go there, and I’ll come back for you, dig?” He was true to his word. After a short while, he was letting himself into the dark room. Hot as it was, he saw David was shivering, arms wrapped around himself. Shock, probably. Huggy took a quick look outside, then handed over a paper sack and a rather ratty leather jacket. “To hide the stains, okay? Got some supplies, too. We go out through the kitchens, m’Auntie Bea’s waiting with her car.”

Exactly what story he told to get the woman’s cooperation, he didn’t say. The kitchen was empty, appliances gleaming, the last meal of the day having been consumed, and dirty dishes consigned to the dishwasher. Huggy led the way out to where a battered Ford was parked beside the dumpsters, engine running.

The woman’s expression tightened as she saw her nephew’s friend. “You get in back, honeychil’, an’ git yourself under the rug there and don’t make a sound, you hear?”

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble…” the youngster said hesitantly, obeying.

“Huh. Won’t be the first time we’ve sneaked someone around after sundown. Got ourselves a reg’lar taxi service here….”

David stayed put undercover until Huggy leaned over from the passenger seat. “We’re clear, Brooklyn. Where’d’you want to go?”

He had no idea. Hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh…you could drop me at the next gas station. Somewhere that’s got a phone,” he improvised wildly. “I can call .. my uncle; he can come pick me up.”

“You got it, Curly.”

“You can call from my place,” Bea interrupted.” No way am I leavin’ you on the street, sonny.”

He had no choice but to go along with her, following Huggy into the little two-story house that accommodated Huggy and his Aunt. She bustled about, putting a plate of homemade cookies on the table and a pitcher of lemonade. “Now we’ll leave you in peace to call your uncle. He can pick you up here.” And she gave him the address and left him to make the call. A few minutes later he joined Huggy in front of the small TV. “You got in touch?” she queried.

“Yeah. Thanks. He said he’d come by in the morning. And to tell you thanks…” He hated lying, but he also didn’t want Huggy and his Aunt to get into trouble if he was caught at their house. He didn’t have anywhere to go, and he wasn’t about to return to that place.

“Always glad to help a brother, even if he’s kinda faded,” Huggy grinned, lounging back on the couch. “You can bunk with me tonight.”

David had other ideas. When the house was quiet, he slid from under the afghan on the couch and reached for his shoes.

“Where’d you think you were going, Brooklyn?” Huggy whispered. Startled, David looked at him.

“Hug, you could get in trouble for what you’ve done, you and your Aunt…”

“I hear ya. You didn’t call your uncle, did you?”

He shook his head. “Can I hang on to the jacket?”

“Sure. For as long as you need it. Auntie’s gonna be sore as a boil.”

“I’ll be okay, tell her.” He finished dressing, and Huggy reached into a pocket and handed over some coins.

“Y’can at least get breakfast. Are you sure you want to do this? ‘Cause you could get in trouble….”

“More than I am already?”

“I’m not gonna change your mind, am I?”

The younger boy shook his head, and Huggy threw up his hands. “Well, you know where to come if you get into trouble.” Huggy placed his hands on his friend’s shoulders forcing him to look Huggy in the eyes. “Promise, you get into any trouble, you come back here or let me know, alright Brooklyn?”

David nodded, then smiled. “You worry too much, Hug; I got this. I’m 15, that’s all grown up where I come from, and summer is here, so it is not like I’ll freeze to death. Besides, I heard the beach has some nice scenery this time of year.” He finished with a wink.

“Get out of here.” Huggy laughed and pushed his friend towards the door. Starsky allowed himself to be pushed, then stopped to look back toward his friend.

“Thanks, Huggy…I mean, for you know.” Then he was gone out the door. Huggy watched his friend leave, sending up a prayer to whomever or whatever to protect David.

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Starsky slept that night on the beach when he was too tired to go further, finding himself a niche against a breakwater – ate some of the fruit and candy Huggy had supplied, and managed a few hours of sleep, dozing to the hypnotic sound of the waves. He woke in the pre-dawn, chilled and thirsty, his back stiff and sore; he bought a bag of potato chips and a soda at a nearby convenience store, and used the facilities there to clean up.

It was a pattern for the next four days until Huggy’s hand-out ran out. David lived hand-to-mouth, doing what he could earn a few pennies, or at least enough to buy a candy bar or soda. He was on his own until he could get enough to go back home to New York, and at the rate he was going, that wasn’t going to be anytime soon. He easily fit in with the other street kids, who, like him, had no place to go, cast-offs that no one wanted. He had found them the second night, camped out under the pier. They made it clear he could stay, but they weren’t friends, more like a “mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.” arrangement, but they often looked out for each other.

By the fifth day, David found the easiest way to earn money was by joining some other street kids at the supermarket. At different times of the day, they would fan out at several supermarkets, helping customers, carrying their purchases to their cars, and getting tipped a few pennies. When he asked about it, they told him the store manager didn’t seem to mind that local kids carried the groceries. The managers figured it was good customer service, and the customers certainly didn’t mind, and it gave them enough to buy the next meal.

It was better than the racket he saw other kids doing, pick-pocketing, thieving. Starsky knew that was the fast track to nowhere, or back to St. Judes, or worse, jail, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Within a day or two, he figured out the best times to make the most money. He also learned if he turned on the charm and the ladies took pity on him; they sometimes gave him more and something from their purchases. So it was on the 7th day, one week from the time he ran away, that he heard someone call out to him.

“Hey, Brooklyn?”

Starsky nearly dropped the bag he was carrying for one of his regulars when he heard someone call out the familiar nickname. He smiled at the scowling woman as he placed her purchases in the trunk of the car. Starsky pocketed the change with a nod and turned toward where the greeting came from.

Across the parking lot, he saw his friend Huggy leaning against a bicycle, its front basket stuffed full of groceries.

“Heya, Hug,” Starsky greeted when he reached his friend, “Picking up stuff for your Aunt?”

“Yeah, Idle hands, remember.” The older boy gruffed, eyeing his friend up and down. Starsky had obviously gotten clothes from somewhere, though they weren’t much better than the ones he had given him a week ago. David also looked like he had missed a few meals. Huggy reached into the basket of his bicycle and pulled out a couple of candy bars, offering one to his friend. “Gotta say, you’re not lookin’ too good.”

“I’m okay.” He wolfed down the candy. “You didn’t get in trouble, did you?”

“Hell, no. Don’t think the school has even missed you. Listen, if things get bad, there’s always the shelters.” He heard through different channels David was staying down by the pier. Not the most glamorous of places, but not the worst either.

“Too many questions, Hug. And I can look after myself.”

“Sure. But there are places that aren’t so curious. The St. Francis Mission down by the docks….”

“I’m Jewish, pal.”

“Well, at least you’d get a square meal. Just remember it if you need it, okay?”

“I hear you, Huggy.”

“Yeah, but are you listening?” Huggy replied, getting on his bike and saying his goodbyes.

Starsky watched him go considering the option his friend had given him. As the day wore on, the idea of a real meal rather than the junk food he’d been living on was more and more attractive. And to be honest, he wasn’t feeling too great. His back was still sore, and there were places that felt hot and too tender to touch.

Down by the docks, Huggy had said…

 

Chapter 3 

From a very early age, Kenneth Hutchinson had shown a degree of empathy unusual in young males of his background. His mother had grown used to her son bringing home injured creatures, insistent on saving them. Broken-winged birds, baby birds fallen from the nest, a baby possum, and once what turned out to be an unweaned bobcat kitten. And with each new arrival, Kenny’s plea – ‘Can I keep it if I mend it?’ would be rewarded by his mother’s sigh as she exercised her doctor’s skills and performed triage on his new find.

“I tell you, Richard, he’s certainly going to follow in your grandfather’s footsteps,” she said as she prepared to join her husband in bed. Richard gazed at her over his bifocals and put down the journal he was reading.

“I hope so, honey. Be good to have another doctor in the family. Though right now, there’s more chance of him becoming a veterinarian. What was it last week?”

“A stray dog that had been hit by a car. Had to be put down, poor creature. Kenny stayed with it and held it while the vet administered the lethal dose. Then he was gone all afternoon. Went for a run, he said.”

“A hard head but a soft heart,” Richard diagnosed. “He’ll need both, I think… But let’s get some sleep; we’ll have the usual shit load of cases to deal with tomorrow….”

“Ah, what did you say about a hard head and a soft heart? At least Kenny gets it honestly….”

“Well, it was this kind heart that rescued you, wasn’t it?”

“Oh yes, the dashing young American officer rescuing the English lady in distress,” she sighed dramatically.

With a growl, he rolled over so that he was above her and she below him, “Well, if it weren’t for this dashing American, you’d still be stuck in that ditch.”

She smiled, reaching up to wrap arms around his neck, “Well, you do have a point; 15 years after the war is an awfully long time, and it would have been rather boring, and…..”

Richard leaned in, cutting off whatever else she had to say with a kiss.

♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘

“Kenny!” his mother’s voice floated up the stairs. With a sigh, he closed the textbook he was reading, carefully marking his place, and clattered down to where his mother waited. “I need a few things delivered to the shut-ins, son, and Anton just called in sick. You and Eric can do the deliveries and the pick-up from the pharmacy on the way back. And,” she added with a wry smile, “don’t sit down with Mrs. McGinty, or she’ll talk your ear off about her days as a Hollywood starlet.”

“Okay, Mom.” He grinned, a tall long-limbed young man with a mop of unkempt lint-blond hair. Old ladies like Mrs. McGinty adored him. She was kind of cool, even with arthritis that had crippled her and confined her to her apartment, and had all sorts of stories to tell. So he tended to leave his deliveries to her last.

But first, there was the pick-up from the pharmacy to deal with. Eric, one of the more reliable volunteers, helped heft the two big boxes of clinic supplies after Ken signed for them. In the same way, the clinic got donations of ‘expired’ foodstuff and perishables, and the pharmacy gave them a discount on over-the-counter medication. And wrote it off as charity, no doubt.

The boxes were large and unwieldy, though relatively light. Ken gave the lighter of the two boxes to Eric, taking the box with the bottled items for himself to carry. Calamine lotion, paregoric, ipecac syrup, antiseptics… He was following Eric down a back alley short-cut when a heavy-built man stepped out of the shadows in front of them. And Ken caught the gleam of a knife. “Hand it over, kid, and no one gets hurt.”

Instinct took over. He hurled the laden box at the attacker, hearing the crash and clatter of bottles breaking as the man tried to avoid it. He yelled one word at Eric — “Run!” And the volunteer took off like a spooked rabbit, but there were two assailants now, and they wouldn’t be satisfied with a load of cheap pharmaceuticals; they were after a bigger prize.

Ken was no slouch when it came to a fight, but it was two against one and with at least one weapon, and he knew he would not get off lightly. But a Hutchinson doesn’t back down, and he danced away from the knife-wielder, stumbling over the detritus underfoot, realizing that things were about to go against him.

Suddenly, another figure in the fray was barreling in, a pair of fists impacting one of the attackers, driving into the unguarded abdomen, and spinning to kick at a kneecap. It all got very chaotic, and then there was a shrill whistle and a yell of “Police!” And he was standing hands on knees, crowing for breath as the would-be thieves took to their heels. “You okay, Ken?” It was the burly form of Officer Dobey, dark face concerned.

“Yeah. Yeah, I —think so, sir….” The policeman’s partner joined him, looking at the scattered, shattered bottles strewn over the ground. Ken knew both Dobey and Blaine — the Mission was on their beat.

“Bastards ran for it,” Blaine said, annoyed. And: “Friend of yours, son?” This was when Ken took in the boy crouched at the wall’s angle, one hand clutched across his chest, face blanched with pain. “Think you might need some help, kid,” he added, pulling the boy to his feet. “Come on; we’ll get you both home….”

Corralled by the uniformed officers, David had no choice but to accept their escort. He wasn’t all that steady on his feet, and the black man had a supporting arm around his shoulders. He felt sick and giddy; his left hand was pulsing in agony and dripping blood, and he couldn’t think straight. He didn’t quite know what he’d been thinking, to jump into the fight and what was clearly a robbery, except it had been two against one, and he couldn’t just walk by on the other side; he needed to even the odds.

“Go call it in, Johnny,” he was saying. “I’ll get these two to the mission….”

Things got very confusing, then, but he became aware that he was abruptly sitting at a table with a mug of fragrant coffee in front of him, and someone was telling him to drink it because he was in shock. It was sweet and strong as he preferred it, nectar, and his injured hand was being wrapped…

Ken looked at his rescuer. It was no one he knew. A scruffy individual in a ratty leather jacket, dusty dark curls… “Hey,” he said, sotto voce, as the adults talked over his head, “You got a name? ‘Cause ‘hey, you’ is impolite.”

The boy mumbled something, looking wall-eyed at the police. “I gotta go…” but when he tried to stand, his knees weren’t on board with the idea.

“You’re not going anywhere without having something to eat,” A woman’s voice said, and there was a bowl of stew in front of him, with bread rolls, and it smelled wonderful. His belly rumbled, demanding that it be filled with this delicious concoction, and he didn’t have the strength to deny it. It was gone before he realized it. Adrenaline had bottomed out. Stomach full almost to bursting, he put his head down on his folded arms and gave up the fight to stay conscious.

“Kenny, I think you should take your new friend upstairs and let him clean up,” his mother said, “Hal and John will be back to take your statement in the morning… we’ll send this young hero home when he’s fit to be seen.”

It took a while to rouse the sleeper, but he let himself be shepherded up a flight of stairs and into a compact bathroom. “Mom says you gotta shower before you leave,” Ken said briskly. “She’ll fix your hand, too. Mom’s a doctor; she knows what to do. Just dump your clothes in the tub….”

Like a sleepwalker, the boy began to strip.

The jacket came off first, and Ken froze.

Under it, the once-white tee was stained with deep brown splotches that could only be dried blood, and the fabric had stuck to the skin so that scabs broke and fresh blood welled sluggishly.

“Jeeezus, man, what happened to you?” he breathed, and and raised his voice. “Mom!”

“Don’t—” came the plea, but it was too late. Liz Hutchinson took one look and went into full doctor mode. She wasn’t a stranger to signs of abuse. She took charge, gently soaking the fabric and peeling it from the damaged skin beneath.

The boy’s back was severely bruised, welted darkly, with more than skin-deep wounds in some areas. Someone had taken a belt to Ken’s new friend. While most had scabbed over, the deeper wounds hadn’t completely, and these were what bled. They were angry red around the edges, clearly infected. The fight must have aggravated them some more. He was cringing, clearly ashamed that anyone should see him like this. “Strip off,” she said now, “And get under the shower. Kenny, fetch my kit, will you?”

By the time she was finished, her new patient was shivering. With the raw areas taped, one of her son’s tee shirts replaced the bloody one and sweatpants. Both were too big, but they would have to do.

She would have things to say to Dobey and Blaine when they turned up. And when they did turn up, she was primed to confront them.

Both men had a healthy respect for Liz Hutchinson and admiration for her and her husband’s pro bono work at the free clinic funded partly by the Hutchinson family fortune, where Dr. Richard dealt with rougher cases, mainly dealing with the men in the neighborhood. At the same time, his wife preferred helping the women and children.

Where many people might use inherited wealth to enjoy an extravagant lifestyle, Elizabeth and Richard, both with degrees from prestigious medical schools, had chosen another path.

And every summer, they spent at the Mission in downtown Bay City.

“Right,” Liz said, folding her arms and fixing the two officers with an icy glare when they arrived the following morning, “I can see you’re off-duty. Do you want to give Ken the third degree about the attack yesterday? He wasn’t hurt, thanks so much for asking, except for a bloody nose, so it will not need to go further.”

“Glad to hear it,” John Blaine said placatingly. “No, it’s about Ken’s—uh—friend? I wasn’t sure, but I checked with some contacts in the neighborhood to see if the boy was from around here.” Blain opened a small notebook, ” A Beatrice Brown was able to provide some information. Apparently she works at St. Jude’s, a state reform school just outside the city. The boy’s name is David Starsky. You wouldn’t happen to know where we could find him?”

“He’s asleep upstairs,” Liz said. “And you’re taking him nowhere. I’ve seen enough cases of abuse to recognize it when I see it. Kenny?” She raised her voice, and her son stuck his head around the door. “Come in here, will you? And tell Officer Blaine about David’s back.”

Ken obliged, stuttering slightly, providing the details as his mother prompted him. Blaine exchanged glances with his partner. “Dr. Hutchinson, you know how it is—”

“Hal,” Liz cut in, addressing the stolid black man standing at Blaine’s shoulder, “Yes, I think I do; I know there is nothing you can do. So if there’s nothing else, gentlemen, I have a clinic to run.”

“He’s a runaway,” Dobey rumbled. “We have to make a report; you know that. And the school needs to know he’s safe….”

“I highly doubt the school cares about Davey’s whereabouts beyond the money the state or whoever funds his schooling provides them,” Liz snapped. “While he’s under my roof, he’s safe, and I can supply the care he needs right now. You can tell DeSoto at St. Jude’s that. You can also tell him if he cared as much as you say he does, he should investigate how David got into this state.”

♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘♘

David woke slowly, gradually, becoming aware that he was warm, in a comfortable bed instead of curled in a shop doorway or on his cot back at the school. He shifted a little and was startled when a voice said: “Hey, did I wake you? I’m sorry.”

A blond boy was sitting cross-legged on another bed, clad in jeans and a sweatshirt bearing the legend’ Minnesota Vikings.’ He had a heavy book open across his knees.

“No, you didn’t,” David said. “What’re you reading?”

“Grey’s Anatomy. How do you feel? You went out like a light last night.”

David considered. “I’m fine. Well, stiff, some.” He sat up carefully, realizing that he was wearing an oversized tee and sweatpants and that his hand had been bandaged. Aside from a residual soreness, his back felt a lot better. He had a confused memory of a white-coated woman applying something that stung, swearing under her breath as she did so.

“Not surprising.” The boy leaned forward. “I’m Ken Hutchinson, by the way, but everyone except Mom calls me Hutch. She says Kenneth is a perfectly good name, but I think it sounds kinda dorky.” He made a face, blue eyes crinkling in amusement. “I didn’t get your name. Starky, is it?”

David tried a smile. “Starsky. David Starsky,” he corrected.

“But you prefer Dave. Pleased to meet ya.” He closed the book, set it aside, and came to perch beside him. “Should thank you for rescuing me yesterday.”

“S’okay.” David shrugged, realized that was not a good move and hid the wince. But the blond’s sharp eyes hadn’t missed it.

“Want to talk about it?” he said softly. “Who hurt you, I mean.” The voice was gentle, and David’s breath caught on a stifled sob, and he shook his head. “No, I’m okay. You know how it is, do something stupid you get the belt.”

“What do you mean, do something stupid,” Kenny questioned, and David gave him a strange look. There was no way this blond kid was that naive about the ways of the world and when kids misbehave. David looked around the room and the clothes that were strewn about. While the walls were worn with age, the clothes and other items spoke of newness and were more expensive than what the local Woolworths had to offer.

Maybe the kid was naive.

Green.

“You know, when ya smartmouth your Ma, or….” He paused when he saw his friend’s wide-eyed look, “What, didn’t you ever get a whoopin’ before.”

“Well, sure, but nothing like that… that’s…that’s more than a spanking; even if I know better than to smartmouth my mom, she wouldn’t have done anything like that. No matter how much I mess up, not even my dad would do that.”

“Well, we ain’t all lucky enough to have a ‘leave it to beaver’ family. Okay.”

“Is that who did that to you, your mom or dad?”

“Leave them out of this; they didn’t do anything.” David pushed off the bed crossing the room to look out the window. Kenny watched him for a moment before speaking again. “Well, if it wasn’t your parents, who was it and why.”

Starsky turned angrily from the window to face the other boy. “You want to know; you really want to know? It was that school my mom and so-called Uncle Joe sent me to after my dad died. It’s for the best, Davey, for my own protection, they said. I bet they didn’t know about creepy teachers like Mr. Burton, who likes….”

Starsky stopped mid-sentence, realizing what he had almost said out loud.

“Mr. Burton, who likes what, David.”

“Nothing,” Starsky said quickly, turning back to the window, “It doesn’t matter, cuz I’m not going back, Hutch….”

“Of course you’re not,” Hutch said firmly; whatever happened at the school, he could tell it hurt the boy in front of him more than the physical wounds showed. Giving the other boy time to regain his composure, Kenny returned to reading his book, though his mind was more on David than the words on the page. After a while, when the words no longer made sense, and a distinct growl from both their stomachs broke the silence for a third time, Hutch finally closed the book setting it aside once again. “You want breakfast? Though I guess it’s more brunch now,” he added, standing up. “Toast? And whatever jam we can scrape out of the jar? Or there’s cereal….”

“Anything; I’m not fussy.”

They were halfway through the scratch breakfast when Liz Hutchinson walked in. David got clumsily to his feet, nearly spilling his glass of milk.

“Just having a bite of brunch, Mom,” Hutch chirped. “This is Dave. David Starsky.”

She nodded, smiling at them both. She was nearly as tall as her son and had the same fair hair and blue-grey eyes. She looked the epitome of an independent woman, fearless and proud. She saw the boy whose injuries she had treated last night with a shock of dark brown curls, deep blue eyes, and a wary expression as if he might bolt at any minute. She sat at the table across from him to put him at ease. “Well, David, how are you feeling?”

“Uh..better. Thank you, ma’am.”

“That’s good. Thank you for helping Kenny yesterday. Want to tell me a little about yourself?”

David looked between his new friend and his mom, wondering how much he should tell. A part of him told him not to say anything. Yet the other part told him he could trust them, especially the boy he rescued yesterday, who now sat beside him.

He didn’t know why someone he had only met yesterday could feel like he’d known him forever. It didn’t make sense; it was okay yet disconcerting all at the same time.

Sensing his discomfort, Kenny stood up to leave, but David stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. “No, you can stay; I don’t mind.”

Kenny nodded, sitting back down, a little closer than before, one leg pressed against David’s.

A quiet comfort, an anchor in a raging storm.

Haltingly, David explained some of his circumstances—of being sent away from home and some of what had happened since. He clammed up entirely when she asked who had beaten him, and she didn’t push it, changing the subject. “Kenny, perhaps you and David could help prep for this evening meal this afternoon since we’re short two volunteers. Show him the ropes, and get him some clean clothes. Is that okay with you, David?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble….”

“No trouble, hon. We owe you for saving young Kenny here.”

Hutch led the way downstairs to the dining hall, greeted the two volunteers already at work, and guided his friend into a wide corridor lined with clothes racks. “Should be able to find you something to fit…” he mused.

“I … appreciate it, but I can’t pay—”

“Hey, this is all donated stuff, and Mom will work our tails off, so consider it paid for. Here ya go,” Hutch held up an old baseball jersey with the words Brooklyn Dodgers embossed across the back. “Hey, you’re from Brooklyn. You must be a Dodgers fan?”

In short order, David had a good collection of clothes. Lunch was sandwiches and a piece of fruit; then it was time to start the dinner preparations.

By the time everyone was fed, the clean-up completed, and the family sat down to eat, David was ready for bed again. He and Hutch said their goodnights and left the Hutchinson parents to talk.

“So that’s Ken’s latest stray?” Richard queried.

“Yes, and I’m picking up the ‘Can I keep it if I mend it?’ vibe. I’ve asked Johnny Blaine to stop by in the morning because I want to visit the school.”

“Honey, you know you can’t change the world, right?”

“Oh, I know. But maybe I can change one small corner….”

 

Chapter 4 

Principal DeSoto got to his feet to greet his unexpected visitors. He already knew Officer Blaine. The handsome blonde woman in the neat business suit he did not. “What can I do for you, officer? And …”

“Doctor Hutchinson,” Liz said shortly. “This is merely a courtesy call to inform you that I am currently treating one of your pupils. Ex-pupil, I should say, as he won’t be coming back here.”

“And who might that be, Miss….”

“Dr. Hutchinson. And I am inquiring about David Starsky.”

DeSoto indicated for them to take a seat. Blaine stayed standing while Liz sat in one of the two seats in front of the principal’s desk.

“Perhaps you might explain further, Dr. Hutchinson… I had no idea….”

“Your admin office reported the boy missing, sir, and that was only when I called yesterday to ask if he was a student at your school,” Blaine stated.

“And what are you implying, Officer Blaine.”

Blaine stepped forward, his expression firm. “No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Desoto.”

“He might not be, But I certainly am; the boy was missing for a week, and you hadn’t reported him missing. Didn’t you think that was important? To call the police or even his family.”

“Do you know how many boys run away from here, Doctor? It’s not the first time David has run away; he usually came back or was brought back by the police.” Mr. Desoto lied, and the two knew it was a lie.

Blaine spoke first, “Mr. Desoto, I assure you we have no record of escorting students back to your school, or at least ones that were not reported missing. And David Starsky has never been reported….”

“Now see here, I will not stand here and have you accuse me of not knowing what is happening in my own facility,” Desoto interrupted, his voice rising.

Blaine stepped to the Principal’s desk, but Dr. Hutchinson reached up, placing a calming hand on Blaine’s arm. He looked down at her, then nodded, taking a step back.

“Mr. Desoto,” Liz began, “My husband and I run the clinic at the St. Francis Mission every summer. When David came to us, he had suffered severe abuse. I understand that some professionals regard corporal punishment as a necessity, but what this boy suffered was above and beyond. I hope you will investigate the circumstances in which this happened.”

“Yes, of course, Doctor,” Mr. Desoto agreed; he knew when to back down. While he did not know the woman before him, he finally recognized the name. Hutchinson. He’d occasionally seen the name from the charity list of donors that funded local organizations, including the school. By showing some cooperation, the money might not be threatened.

“Thank you, Mr. Desoto,” Liz said with a slight nod. “I appreciate your cooperation in this matter. Now David will remain under my care until we can find fosterers. Perhaps you can get his personal records? And any personal belongings the boy may have come with.”

Blaine said, “We’ll also need a list of all staff members who had access to David during his time here. And any information on past incidents of abuse or neglect.”

“Of course, Officer Blaine,” Mr. Desoto replied. “I will gather that information for you as soon as possible.” He pushed the intercom to the outer office and requested the requested material.

Sometime later, DeSoto’s secretary laid a manila folder in front of him with a small box. “You should be aware of why Starsky was sent here. He was reported to be disruptive— with tendencies towards violence….” DeSoto started to explain.

“Whatever the reasons, Mr. DeSoto, he did not deserve the treatment he got here. Are those David’s things?”

“Yes, but…”

“Whatever you have to say, David will not be coming back here.”

“But I can’t let you take him without parental consent.”

“Why not! You were ready to let him go missing without even telling his family. In my eyes, you already discharged David from your school. I am simply here to collect his things. But if you would like to make a fuss over it, I can get my lawyer to draw up the paperwork, along with any paperwork to bring a lawsuit in his family name.”

“For what!”

“For neglect, breach of contract, and anything else I can think of that will stick.”

“And I would happily help her with that, Mr. Desoto. As a witness, of course,” Blaine spoke up. Desoto looked between the two, then handed Dr. Hutchinson the file and small box.

Liz took the items, and the two headed towards the door.

As they were leaving, Liz stopped in the doorway, looked at the opulent office, with its high-end furnishings, and turned towards the Principal. “Oh, I will be sure to tell my sister-in-law to scratch St. Judes off of her places she gives to yearly. I’m sure she and her friends will be greatly interested to know how their money is spent,” she finished before closing the door behind them.

John Blaine escorted her to her car, only just managing to conceal a grin of admiration. “Well, you certainly told him, Liz!”

“Oh, you know nothing will be done, John. He may investigate, but I doubt it. Even if he did, it would be one boy’s word against that of a teacher. But it makes me so mad! If you’d seen the state of his back….” She grimaced. “And that bastard of a principal didn’t even know that David had gone missing? Why should he care, after all? He’d still be getting money from the State if he didn’t report it … I want to find out as much as possible about our guest. He must have a family.”

Once back at the mission, Liz laid out the items from the small box on the kitchen table. The boys were still volunteering downstairs and would not return for a while. Opening the box, she found it didn’t contain much, some small trinkets, things usually found in boys’ pockets on any given day—scraps of paper, a small car, etc. There was also a baseball and glove.

Next came a well-read book, with “The Adventures of Tom Sawyer” written across the front. She smiled; her son had the same book, a well-worn copy passed from father to son. The final item she knew was special, a wristwatch, and not inexpensive at that. She turned it over and read the inscription, then put it aside. Then taking the folder with David’s information, she laid it open on the table and studied the papers. After getting all the information she needed, she picked up the phone.

Sometime later, she found Ken and his new friend cheerfully prepping the vegetables for dinner and arguing about baseball. “David,” she said, “when you’re through, come into the clinic. I want to check the dressing on your hand.”

The knife slash on the back of his left hand had been bloody but not deep. It looked to be healing well, with no damage to tendons. Liz replaced the gauze and bandages, talking as she did so.

“I spoke to your mother, David,” she said, tidying things away and not looking at him. “About why you were sent here to St. Jude’s.”

“She doesn’t want me,” he muttered. “No one wants me. That’s what you’re trying to tell me.” She heard the crack in his voice that wasn’t entirely due to adolescence.

“That’s not true, hon. You were meant to stay with your Aunt and Uncle, the Meyers. But your Aunt broke her hip, and so a friend arranged for you to be admitted to St. Jude’s.” He was looking at her, the blue eyes awash with unshed tears. “I didn’t tell her you’d run away,” she added quickly, “or why. I just said you were staying with us and asked if you could spend the summer.”

“Yeah, I know what friend that was, but I don’t understand; I was there for a year. Why didn’t they come to get me once she recovered?”

“From what I read in the notes the school gave me and what was said when I talked to your mom and aunt, they thought you were doing well. Didn’t want to…..”

“But that was a lie; I wasn’t ok.”

“We know that now, dear.” Liz soothed, “Don’t hold that against your family. They were only doing what they thought best, based on the information they had.”

“I don’t have to go back?” It was a desperate plea. “I—I can’t….”

“No,” Liz said gently. “No, you don’t.”

The boy made a sound that might have been a sob, and Liz recognized he had reached the end of his tether. She opened her arms and drew him in, stroking the tangled silky curls as he buried his face against her and cried.

After a while, the crying jag eased, and he pulled away, sniffing, accepting the wad of tissues she offered. “You really mean it?” He was asking for reassurance.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean, hon. And by the way, I got your things back. That’s a nice watch.”

For a moment, she thought he might cry again. “My father gave it to me,” he said.

“Well, run along now and show it to Kenny, why don’t you?”

The smile was the rainbow after the rain. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything!” Then, “Uh… how do I look?”

And because his macho persona, even young as he was, would never want to show weakness, she simply said: “Terrific, Davey. You look terrific. But it might be a good idea to wash your face….”

Hutch regarded his friend with some concern. “You okay? You’re kinda pale….”

David gave him a grin. “Your mom got in touch with mine. And I can stay for the summer, Hutch. I don’t have to go back!”

“Oh, man, that’s great!”

“And I got my watch back. The school took it from me, but your mom made them give it back. You wanna see?” David showed off the watch to his friend, “Dad gave it to me. It’s the same that Micky Mantle wears – y’know, the Yankee baseball player? And it’s waterproof. Look, and I don’t have to remember to wind it up. It just keeps going, even in the water.”

“Takes a licking and keeps on ticking!” Hutch chuckled. “That’s awesome. Dad’s got a Rolex, but this is better!”

“Boys, this is a kitchen, not a playground.” A scolding voice came from the cook, “Those vegetables will not prep themselves.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the two responded, and the cook just shook her head when it was followed by more laughter.

So the summer went.

In the morning, they would help around the clinic and in the kitchen before being released for the afternoon, with a promise to return before the street lights turned on. Starsky introduced him to Huggy on one of these afternoon outings, and it wasn’t unusual to see the three together around the neighborhood. At one point, about a week after David learned he didn’t have to return to the school, there was some confusion when another of the volunteers quit and was replaced by another named David.

Hutch solved it. “Hey, we’ll just call you Starsk. Then Judy and Mo will know who to yell at when there’s too much paprika in the goulash!”

“That was just the once,” Starsky objected. “The top came off the jar,” he defended himself quickly,

“Honest injun.” Judy, the duty cook, shot him a glare.

“Whatever. But neither Mo or I will let you near the spice rack again. Julia Child, you ain’t, Curly.….”

Liz smiled as she passed by. The boy liked spicy food. He enjoyed almost any food. Seemed to be constantly hungry. Well, he was still growing, after all…

“A letter for you, David.” Liz was sorting through the mail delivery. “New York postmark. From your mother?”

But it wasn’t his mother’s handwriting on the envelope. And if it had been anything important, she’d have called. The envelope held just one piece of paper. It was scrawled across it, bold and black, just one sentence. It’s taken care of, Davey. And a signature. Joe Durniak.

Liz was looking at him quizzically. “Are you all right, hon?” He realized he had crumpled the letter into a ball. “Not bad news?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just an old friend of my father’s.” Who’d sent me away. Told the school I had violent tendencies. Yeah, seeing your father gunned down in the street would trigger violent tendencies.

She studied him for a second, not believing entirely what he said, but had learned over the last few weeks that when David wanted to talk, he did, but when he didn’t, wild horses couldn’t make him. “Ok, David. I know, why don’t you and Kenny go to the beach and get some fresh air? It will do you a world of good. You’re excused from kitchen duty for today.”

Hutch, overhearing, brightened. “Hey, thanks, Mom!”

It was a short bus ride to the nearest beach. Hutch was slightly concerned, as Starsky had been uncharacteristically silent. “Hey, tell me to butt out, but what’s biting you? You’ve been sour since you got that letter this morning.” Silently, Starsky handed the crumpled missive to his friend. Who straightened it out, read it, and passed it back. “Joe Durniak?” he queried.

“A so-called friend of the family.” He took the letter back and screwed it up again savagely. “He got me sent to that rat hole. Mom had no idea… He told her it’d be safer for me. Well, he got that right. Because I’d have hunted down—” He broke off and kicked at an innocent heap of sand.

Hutch could see he was shaking with repressed fury.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s run.” And took off along the beach. He had the long stride of the distance runner, whereas Starsky was a sprinter: he pulled up before Hutch did, sucking air. Hutch jogged back to join him. “Surf’s up,” he said.

“What?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.” He stripped off his t-shirt and jeans and kicked off his sneakers. In a very short time, he was down to his boxers.

“What’ll be fun?” Starsky, still getting his breath back, followed suit.

“Body-surfing!” Hutch said. “It’ll be great!”

“But… I can’t swim….”

“I won’t let you drown, dummy! Sea Scout, remember!”

And it was fun—more fun than he could have imagined. Hutch was like a dolphin, plunging in and out of the breakers. Starsky was lured deeper and deeper until there was nothing underfoot, and he spluttered out seawater, dog-paddling madly until he felt confident of emulating Hutch’s antics. By the time the blond called it quits, he was out of breath again and glad to flop down on the towel Hutch had produced from his pack. “Listen, we’ve got the afternoon off; how about we catch a movie? There’s a double bill at the Rivoli — Ocean’s Eleven and Murder Inc.”

“Popcorn?” Starsky said hopefully, accepting the can of soda Hutch tossed to him.

“Of course, popcorn!” Hutch confirmed with a grin.

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The New York sidewalk was heaped with dirty grey-brown piles of snow. It had been pristine white, to begin with, and Nicky was ecstatic because there’d be no school; they could have snowball fights: well, until Nicky got wet and cold and whined to go in. David waited because his father would finish his shift early, and they could get hot chocolate at the local café.

Sure enough, his father, Mike Starsky, was coming down the street with his greatcoat slung around his shoulders, grinning as he saw his son waiting on the stoop…

Starsky whimpered in his sleep. He’d had this nightmare before; he knew what was coming.

Gunshots. A rattle of machine-gun fire, flinging the police officer back to sprawl on the icy pavement, blood erupting from the multiple wounds, mixing with the dirty snow…

“NO!”

Bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat, he relived those awful moments when he tried to run to his father, but someone was holding him back, and his mother was screaming…

“Starsk?” Hands on his shoulders, strong and steady. “Starsky? You all right?”

Hutch.

“D-dreaming…”

“Must have been a doozy.” There was an arm across his shoulders, the solid feel of a body next to his. He let himself relax fractionally.

“Yeah. Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” It was fallout from the letter, he knew.

It’s been taken care of, Davey.

He felt…cheated.

“Want to tell me about it?” The quiet voice in the dark room invited confidence.

“It’s—about my dad when he was killed.” The horror, the unimaginable pain…”I—saw it happen.”

Hutch’s arm tightened around him. “Oh, God, Starsk… I’m sorry….”

“I wanted to find the scum who did it. I wanted to kill them. I had that nightmare every night. I thought if I killed them, it’d stop. I wanted Dad’s backup gun —Dad taught me gun safety when I was just a kid—but it was locked away. I guess Mom was scared out of her wits. She wouldn’t let me have it. I remember yelling at her….” His breath hitched, and he shuddered. “Maybe that’s why she sent me away.”

Empathy can be a curse. Hutch rubbed his friend’s back in small soothing circles, thinking about what it must have been like to go through that amount of trauma. His mind staggered to a halt.

“You haven’t told anyone about any of this, have you? About the nightmares, I mean.”

“What’s the point?” His voice was muffled.

“I don’t know.” Maybe lay a few ghosts. “It might help. Why not talk to Officer Blaine or Dobey? They’re good people, and they’re cops. They’d understand.”

Silence. Had he said the wrong thing?

“Do you think so?” Tentative. “I guess…”

Then: “Dang, Hutchinson, how’d you get to be so smart?”

“Uh…good genes?” Hutch guessed and won a choked laugh.

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As it turned out, John Blaine and Maggie, his wife, lived next door to the Meyers, Al and Rose, and Liz Hutchinson thought it might be good to make a courtesy call since David would be living with them once the Hutchinsons left for Duluth.

If she had any concerns, they were nullified by the greeting David got. Al was the strong silent type; Rose was the complete opposite, chatting the entire time. Both assured her their sister’s son was more than welcome in their household. Al spoke of enrolling him in high school — Rose seemed set to be a surrogate mother. Liz didn’t extend the visit — David had asked if he could talk to John Blaine alone. They hesitated at first, but Blaine had guessed there was a reason for the boy wanting to talk, and he offered to run the boy back to the mission himself when they were done talking.

After saying their goodbyes, John led the way through the house and onto the deck.

“Sit down, kid,” Blaine invited. The youngster was clearly uneasy. Blaine could understand why. It’s one thing talking to a cop in uniform and quite another to sit in a lawn chair on the deck facing a man who knew about his experiences at school. John Blaine was a good cop, and he knew those experiences had left a scar. He could see it in the tenseness of the teenage body, the wariness in those stunning blue eyes.

There was an unspoken fear there, too. “Okay, son. Spit it out.”

“I—got a letter….” A crumpled piece of paper was brought out and handed over. “From New York.” Blaine waited. “Durniak. He knew my father. A friend, I thought. He — paid the funeral expenses when my father was killed in the line. He told my mom that I’d be safer out here. I don’t understand why….”

“And you want answers, right?” He got a short nod in response.

“I didn’t know who else to ask. Didn’t want to upset my mom. But Hutch says you’ve been a good friend to his folks, so…. ”

The enormity of the trust being placed in him made Blaine blink. “Dave, I don’t know if there’s much I can do. I can make a few inquiries… what precinct did your father work out of?”

The boy told him. “It’s just…I don’t trust Mr. Durniak. What does the letter mean? Is it something I should know about?”

Blaine considered, looking at the intensity on the young face. “Tell you what, Dave. I’ll talk to some people and see what I can find out. Give me a couple of days, okay?”

A couple of days was all he needed. Michael ‘Mike’ Starsky had been a well-liked member of the detective squad in the 79th Precinct, with an excellent arrest record and several commendations to his credit. Joseph Durniak, on the other hand, was an informant. Teflon. Suspected of being a low-level hoodlum, but nothing stuck. It was perfectly possible that Mike Starsky had been murdered because he was getting too close during an investigation — and Durniak had taken his revenge after ensuring that Mike’s son would be safe.

The question was, how much could he tell the boy?

He and Dobey made an evening stop at the mission for a Code Seven, knowing they’d be offered good coffee and some of Mo’s delicious cookies. Blaine took the opportunity to speak to the boy alone.

“You shouldn’t worry about Durniak’s letter, Dave,” he began. “I think he was just trying to ease your mind. He thought very highly of your father. From what I hear, your dad was a good man and a great detective. He may have bent a few rules to get results — show me the cop who doesn’t! — but he had a terrific arrest record. Be proud of him, Dave. Your father was a hero.” He saw the young shoulders straighten. “And I want you to know you can talk to me anytime. About anything, okay?”

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One of many jobs around the mission was sorting donations of books and magazines; some charitable soul had donated a boxful of ‘Car&Driver.’

“Some of these are vintage! The guy must have been collecting them right from the start!”

“…What?…” came the mumble from Starsky, who was engrossed in an article on the Ford Motor Company.

“Starsk,” Hutch said, exasperated, “You’re supposed to be helping!”

“…Yeah, okay… Hey, Hutch, look at this! This is one sweet machine!” The picture was of a bright red Thunderbird.

“Okay, if we’re playing ‘choose the car,’ I think this one. A sporty racing green Edsel! Or the Galaxy…Yeah, the Galaxy…Soon as I can, I’ll be applying for my learner’s permit,” Hutch added, stacking the magazines back in their box. “When we get back home to Duluth. Grandad said he’d teach me. And there’s Driver’s Ed in school.”

Starsky was silent for a moment, the car magazines they had been perusing laid aside. “I guess I could apply already,” he said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t know who’s gonna teach me….”

“So, when was your birthday?” Hutch wanted to know. “Did the school do anything special?”

“Yeah, Huggy’s Aunt made a small cake, and I got to go off campus to get ice cream. Of course, that was before I got paddled, and they locked me in isolation for three days.” He shrugged. “I’d picked a fight with an upper-class man an’ bust his lip for callin’ me a kike. Exhibiting those violent tendencies I was supposed to have. I don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

“Okay…” Though secretly, Hutch was appalled. And thoughtful. And three mornings later, there was a rather clumsily wrapped box beside Starsky’s plate, and Hutch was grinning at him. “It’s an Unbirthday present, Starsk. G’wan, open it….”

There was a plain black box with an embossed Red Cross on it. And inside, a Swiss Army knife, red enameled, with STARSKY printed on it.

For once, Starsky was speechless. At least momentarily.

“It’s got all these neat functions,” Hutch said. And was ambushed by Starsky’s hug.

“Oh, man… that’s the best ever!”

Hutch blushed, shaking off the hug and holding up the knife. “See,” he demonstrated, “they’re different blades, and a reamer thing, and….”

“You’re a prince, Hutchinson,” Starsky said delightedly. “You didn’t have to do this….”

“I got mine when I joined the Sea Scouts.”

Starsky blinked at him. “That’s the second or third time you’ve said that, and I may not be the brightest crayon in the box when it comes to Geography, but…Duluth isn’t on the coast….”

“Lake Superior doubles for the ocean, Bozo!” Hutch laughed.

“I’ll take your word for it. Thanks, pal!”

“You’ve earned it, sweetie,” Liz said, coming into the room and giving him a hug. “Kenny hasn’t bitched about being bored since you arrived. Take the day off, both of you and see the new dinosaur movie….”

‘The Lost World’ enthralled them both and made them decide to visit the La Brea Tarpits when they got the chance. There were publicity posters outside the cinema, as well, advertising upcoming movies, one of which was ‘The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.”

“That’d be the life, wouldn’t it?” Starsky said dreamily. They had stopped off for ice cream. “Cruising down the mighty Mississippi on a raft….”

“Huck was an adventurer, right enough,” Hutch agreed. “Tom was more the homebody….”

“Tom had adventures too. And he was smart. A onetrueprunner.”

Hutch blinked, wondering what the hell Starsky meant. He tried it over in his mind, then saw the light.

“I think you mean ‘entrepreneur,’ Huck….”

“Yeah, that’s what I said… But, hey, you can share my raft.”

“Big of you, Huck!” Hutch chuckled. Then, more seriously, “They were kind of like brothers, weren’t they? I used to wish I had a brother….”

Starsky snorted. “Trust me; they’re more trouble than they’re worth. Nicky can be a real pain. I remember being really disappointed when Mom brought him home from the hospital.”

“Disappointed how?”

“Well, I didn’t want a brother; I’d wanted a puppy.”

“Clown!” Hutch elbowed him in the ribs. “Still, Tom and Huck were closer. Blood-brothers.”

There was a moment when blue eyes met blue, and neither spoke nor needed to. Starsky pulled out his new knife and handed it to Hutch, who, with due solemnity, nicked the pad of his thumb with the pocket knife and, as blood welled, handed the blade back to Starsky, who copied him. The two thumbs were pressed together. “Now we’re blood brothers,” he said solemnly. “Like Tom and Huck.”

“‘We are of one blood, you and I,'” Starsky quoted and gave an impish grin. “Hey, I’m not all comic books and B-movies. My English teacher gave me the book. I could go for another scoop of the vanilla, whaddya say?”

“Mom would say it’ll spoil our dinner, but so what ….”

 

Chapter 5 

No summer lasts forever.

The day before Hutch reached his fifteenth birthday, he was engaged in packing. Starsky sat cross-legged on his bed, watching him. “What are you going to do, Hutch? When you quit school, I mean.”

Hutch paused, his Grey’s Anatomy in his hand. “Well, Dad wants me to be a doctor. It’s like a family tradition. Dad and Grandpop, and back a few generations. Mom thinks I’d be better as a veterinarian. But I’d like to see a bit of the world first, maybe go on one of the church’s missions. What about you?”

Starsky gave him a shy grin. “You’ll think I’m crazy. I’d like to be a cop. Like my dad.” He hesitated, then unstrapped his watch. “Hutch – I want you to have this.” And he handed the watch to his friend.

“I can’t take this, Starsk,” Hutch stammered, looking from the offered watch to Starsky.

“Hey, it’s your birthday tomorrow. And I want you to have it. You’re my best friend in the world, Hutch. Blood-brother.”

Hutch blinked. “Blood brother,” he repeated. “Me and thee, Starsk.”

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The airport was crowded, which was a blessing in one way. Both boys were reluctant to be parting, and what little conversation between them was muted. They found seats a little from the departure gate and tried to think what to say.

“You could come to spend Christmas with us,” Hutch offered hopefully. Starsky shook his head.

“Mom’ll want me home for Hanukkah, but she can’t afford it, and I’m not taking a penny from Joe Durniak. Also, Aunt Rose has plans, and I wouldn’t feel right about disappointing her….” He fell silent again, feeling miserable that he was about to lose something infinitely precious. “You’ll write me?”

“Sure. And you can write and tell me about your new school, learning to drive, and y’know, everything….”

“Kenny,” Liz said, “They’ve called our flight….”

“David,” Richard said seriously, dropping to one knee to get on eye-level with him, “We’ve enjoyed having your company this summer – certainly Ken has. It was always good to see him without his nose in a book. And I don’t know what plans you may have for the future, but I think you have the potential to make something of yourself. I believe you can achieve whatever you set your mind to.” He stood up, reached into his pocket, and drew out an envelope. “I know a good investment when I see one. I’d like to invest in you. Open it, son.”

Starsky obeyed. And gulped. “Mr. Hutchinson – sir – “The letter inside bore the heading of a prestigious law firm. It stated that a trust fund had been set up in his name. Shocked, he looked up at Richard Hutchinson. “Sir… what…?”

“When you’re old enough, ready to graduate, or if more schooling is not on your agenda, then you can find another way to use it. Let me know or the lawyers listed in the letter, and we’ll know what to do.” He smiled. “Keep it safe. Don’t let me down, now.” He held out his hand. “Goodbye, son.”

Liz ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek. For a moment, neither boy moved, then simultaneously grabbed each other in a rib-bending hug before breaking apart. “See ya,” Starsky said.

“Yeah,” Hutch returned and moved to join his parents. The last Starsky saw was that cap of sun-bright blond and a hand raised in farewell.

Me and thee, he said to himself. But big boys don’t cry.

And no summer lasts forever.

** Fin***