Butch and Sundance

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Following your heart is never easy, but when two lost souls meet following your heart is the easiest thing in the world.

 

This is a prequel story spanning the academy days until they become partners.

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Ken Hutchinson stood on the steps of the old brick building and stared. It wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination, but it sure looked creepy. Dracula would have been right at home here; all that was missing was a dark and stormy night. Funny how out of place this building looked in downtown Bay City; how appropriate that it was the home of the Police Academy.

Hutchinson sighed. It had taken him months to get to this place, emotionally and physically, and now that he was here, he felt sort of anti-climactic. There should be a marching band or something equally momentous to mark the event. Instead, here he was standing on the steps of this place, located in the underbelly of the city, trying to get his stomach to stop doing flip-flops.

He mounted the stairs and entered the building, allowing his eyes to adjust from the brightness of the California morning. The interior was dark and tired, but alive with people rushing in different directions. He glanced around and tried to get his bearings, but gave up. Spying a reception desk in the corner, he made his way over and asked for directions.

When he walked into the gymnasium, it was almost 9:00. It reminded him a lot of the gym at his high school in Duluth, except this facility had been renovated in the last couple of years. At one end of the room, was a stage. On it, a podium stood to the left, and to the right, a half a dozen chairs. Milling about on the elevated platform were several men in suits, conferring with each other and reviewing the notes they held in their hands. Lined up in front of the stage were wooden chairs, the stackable kind that were not very forgiving if you had to sit in them for any amount of time. Terrific, Hutchinson thought, if I’ve got to sit in one of those all day, I’m going to look like a pretzel.

“Excuse me,” a lilting feminine voice invaded his thoughts. “Have you registered yet?”

Hutchinson turned to discover that the pretty voice belonged to a pretty young lady. “No, I haven’t.” He walked over to where she sat behind a utility table and turned on his most charming smile, the one that made his blue eyes crinkle at the corners. “But if it means I get to talk to you, then I would be glad to register.”

She smiled shyly, though the look in her eyes told him another story. “Could I have your name please?”

“Could I have yours?” He smiled even wider at the blush that crept across her face. “Hutchinson, Kenneth Hutchinson.”

She scanned the list in front of her and located his name as he watched. Pulling together sheets from various piles, she assembled them in a folder and handed the folder to him along with a pen and a sticker that he assumed was for his name.

“Please fill this out with your last name only and take a seat. They’ll be getting started shortly.”

“Thank you.” He winked at her, which generated another shy smile, before heading over to the rows of chairs to claim the only one left located on the aisle.

He filled out his name as instructed and decided against plastering it to his brown leather jacket. God knows if he’d ever get it off without it leaving a mark. He opted to stick it to the black turtleneck he wore instead. He had taken great pains in dressing that morning, but compared to his fellow cadets, he was afraid that maybe he had overdone it. He looked down at himself: black turtleneck sweater, black dress pants, coordinating socks and shoes, and his favourite leather jacket. With his neatly trimmed white blond hair and Nordic blue eyes, at 6’1″, he resembled a model in a fashion catalogue rather than a rookie police officer. Oh well, the words of his father echoed in his head: “You never get a second chance to make a good first impression,” and this was one time when he wanted to make a good impression, especially on that young lady sitting behind the table.

And speaking of that young lady behind the table, he turned and caught her looking back at him. She was definitely interested. He winked at her to let her know he was, too. Another cadet who approached the table interrupted their exchange. Reluctantly, she turned her attention to the newcomer while Hutchinson turned back around.

Pushing thoughts of the redhead aside, he made himself as comfortable as possible and flipped through the information packet while he waited. Schedules, itineraries, personnel forms, rules, regulations, a map, dress code, the usual orientation stuff. Even so, it was going to take a lot of reading and at least two pots of coffee to make it through the file. This stuff looked pretty dry.

“Excuse me?”

Hutchinson glanced up at the man standing beside him.

About six feet tall, slim, and muscular, he pointed to the seat beside Hutchinson.

“Is that seat taken?”

“No,” smiling, he pulled in his long legs, so the guy wouldn’t have to climb over him.

“Thanks.” He took his seat, shrugged out of his coat, and hung it on the back of the chair before turning back to Hutchinson. “My name’s Colby, John Colby.”

“Ken Hutchinson.” He shook the proffered hand.

“You nervous?”

He shrugged, not sure whether to say yes or no. He had been when he’d walked in but now, the butterflies seemed to have disappeared. “What’s there to be nervous about?”

“It feels like the first day of school to me. I always hated the first day of school.”

Hutchinson smiled in agreement, not really in the mood to make pleasant conversation. Colby seemed nice enough; he just didn’t feel like talking. He turned his attention back to his notes hoping Colby would take the hint. He didn’t.

“You from around here?”

“No, actually, I’m from Minnesota.”

“Minnesota?” Colby’s tone made it sound like it was paradise.

“Yeah.” He turned back to his notes.

“You a Vikings fan?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He wasn’t a regular football fan, but if he had a soft spot for any team, it would have to be the Vikings.

“I’m from Oregon. Family moved down here when I was a kid.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question, more of an acceptance of the facts. Colby didn’t see it that way and proceeded to give Hutchinson a condensed version of his personal history, which Hutchinson listened to with half an ear. He was distracted by a familiar giggle emanating from the table behind him. Ignoring Colby, he turned in the direction of the girl.

Hutchinson watched as the pretty redhead batted her eyes at a curly haired guy who had perched his hip on the corner of her table. The guy looked like a slob, dressed in faded jeans, worn out running shoes, and beige cardigan sweater, but he apparently had something going for him. He smiled, she smiled, he smiled again. She giggled and leaned towards him, he leaned towards her and said something. Hutchinson rolled his eyes at the sight of the two of them and turned back to the front, as did Colby.

Colby might have been reading his mind. “Looks like you aren’t the only one who wants to make time with the pretty lady,” Colby’s voice snickered in his ear. “Sorry, pal, better luck next time.”

Hutchinson was saved from answering by a large black man who stepped up to the podium and began by asking everyone to take a seat.

Hutchinson shifted once again in the wooden chair and hoped his butt wouldn’t fall asleep. He was never very good at sitting through speeches and evidently this guy, what was his name–Captain Harold Dobey–wasn’t very good at giving them. The heavyset black man that was rambling on looked as uncomfortable as Hutchinson felt, and they had only been at this for 25 minutes. How long was this supposed to take anyway? He flipped to the day’s itinerary and groaned. This was going to go on till lunch and lunch wasn’t until noon.

On the other side of the gym, David Starsky was feeling pretty good about himself. He had actually made it to this orientation meeting on time and also managed to get the phone number of the pretty young thing at the desk. Not bad for a morning’s work. He had slid into a chair in the last row of seats and smiled a greeting to the guy sitting in the chair beside him just as the speeches were getting underway. Now, 30 minutes later, his orientation package sat on the floor between his sneakered feet. Sitting back, he tried to get comfortable in the impossibly uncomfortable seat and hoped that he wouldn’t doze off during the speeches.

“You are in a position to be envied: the rewards of becoming a BCPD officer are great and the challenges of this position are second to none. This is an exciting time to become a BCPD officer as we forge ever stronger bonds with those in the communities we serve and work to fully implement community policing citywide. A career with the BCPD….”

You don’t have to tell me what a career as a cop means. I lived it for 13 years, Starsky muttered to himself. That’s one of the reasons I’m here. He stared at the black man, but his mind was on other things. He had been thinking of his father a lot the last couple of days, as the countdown to his entry into the police academy became more of a reality. His dad had been a cop, one of New York City’s finest, had been for 15 years until a gunman’s bullet cut short his life 14 long years ago. His dad would have turned 50 years old next month. It was a dirty rotten shame. That day was etched in Dave’s memory as the turning point in his life, because he was there. He saw it happen, saw the look on his father’s face of surprise and shock before he fell to the ground.

And Dave could remember the screams–they were his–as he ran to his father and prayed that it was a bad dream, a mistake, anything but what he’d witnessed. But it was reality, his father was dead, and at 13 years old, he felt like he was, too.

Picking up the pieces had been the hardest thing he had ever had to do. His family was left with a big hole in it, and it was up to him to become the man of the house for his mother and 8 year old brother. But he didn’t know how. He tried, but at 13, it was hard to be brave when you were scared.

“A career with the BCPD will mean many things to you: opportunity to make a real difference to the people in your community; variety of work and assignments; satisfaction with your career; and, pride in being part of a world-class organization. To the residents of Bay City, your decision to become a BCPD officer will mean security and peace of mind.”

Security and peace of mind. What about my security, my peace of mind? I haven’t had that since that stinking day. He fought back the black mood that threatened to overwhelm him every time he thought about his father’s death. That’s why I’m here. I’m finally going to take control of my own life and be the man my father wanted me to be.

He sighed and tunneled is fingers through his thick, curly brown hair for the umpteenth time, making a mental note that it was time to get a haircut. He looked around the room at the other men and women seated around him. I’m going to be a cop. It was almost hard to believe. Who would’ve ever thought that me, David Michael Starsky, would ever be a cop? Dad, I wish you were here right now. I wish you could see me. His thoughts turned to his mother. He had to remember to phone her tonight, to tell her how everything went. Sometimes he wished that she would leave New York and move out to California, but he knew she would never be happy here. Just as he knew he could never go back. His life in New York was something that he never wanted to revisit. For the most part, it held only dark memories. He knew that this was where he belonged. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of soul searching to get here, but for the first time in a long time, he was where he belonged. Even if it meant having to crawl into another uniform. He wasn’t too thrilled about that. But it came with the job. And he wanted the job– badly. So he could put up with the discomfort as long as it came with a badge. Besides, chicks like a man in uniform, right? Granted, he’d already had the opportunity to try out that theory when Uncle Sam gave him an all expenses paid trip to Vietnam. He’d been proud of his uniform then. Proud to serve his country. He wasn’t very proud by the time he’d gotten home. He’d lived a lifetime in those nine months in hell. Another year to fully recover from his injuries and all he had to show for it was disillusionment and ugly memories. He drifted from one job to another for awhile–driving cab, waiting tables–not sure what to do with the man that had been sent home from the war with a spirit that was a little bruised, a little bent, but unbroken–never broken. He’d grown up way too fast in those nine months, and all he wanted to do was put it behind him and start fresh. This was his second chance. A chance his father never got. A chance that David Michael Starsky was going to hang on to with both hands and choke as much life out of as he could.

The speeches dragged on and on, and with every tedious minute, Starsky fidgeted. Sitting still was punishment enough, having to listen to administration double talk as well, was torture. The only time Starsky was really interested in what was being said was when John Blaine stood up to give his presentation. John Blaine was a lieutenant with the BCPD and a guiding force in Starsky’s life. He was also one of the reasons David Starsky decided to become a cop. He had met John Blaine shortly after moving to Bay City at the age of 14. Blaine was an intimidating figure standing well above 6 feet tall and weighing in over 200 pounds. To Starsky he was a giant, and he scared him to death, though he’d never admit that to anybody. How they met was not unusual, but to Starsky, it was unforgettable.

Starsky, with the wisdom of a 14-year-old, decided that his new home in Bay City with his Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al wasn’t going to cut it with him. He had done everything in his power to make his aunt and uncle miserable, knowing full well that what had happened wasn’t their fault. They had only welcomed him into their home, and tried to make him as comfortable as possible when his mother couldn’t contend with him anymore. Her wild child, that’s what she’d called him. And maybe he was at the time, he conceded. But what did they know about the anger and pain that was eating away at him everyday since his father’s death. The frustration and the angst in his inability to make those responsible pay for destroying his family. His dad had been the centre of his universe, and then in a split second, he was gone, and David’s universe with him. No one understood how he felt, how his rage made him want to lash out at anything and anybody. So, he was packed up and sent to California to live with his father’s brother and his wife in the hope that Al and Rosie could find a way through the walls David had constructed to protect what was left of his heart. But they couldn’t, at least, not right away. It took a cop named John Blaine to take the first chip out of that wall.

And he’d never forgotten.

They were neighbours, the Blains–Maggie and John. He met them shortly after he got settled in his aunt and uncle’s place. The memories came back as if they happened yesterday. He was rummaging around in the Blains’ backyard, looking for something he could sell on the street. He didn’t think there was anyone home, so he wasn’t being particularly cautious. He had managed to stock pile a nice little collection when he turned around and ran right smack into John Blaine. Before he could make a move, Blaine had him slammed up against the side of the house with his arm twisted uncomfortably behind him. Finding it difficult to breathe, he tried to struggle but gave up when Blaine purred in his ear, “Keep it up, kid, and I’ll break your arm.” The fight went out of him, and Blaine turned him loose.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Starsky stared at the big man defiantly, rubbing his shoulder. He was trapped in a corner, no where to go, and there was no way he was going to make it around, over, or through this man.

“I said what’s your name, kid?”

“Dave Starsky. What’zit to ya?”

“I like to know the names of smart-ass punks who try to rip me off.” Blaine looked at him from top to bottom. “You know Al Starsky?”

“My uncle.” He continued to stare at Blaine, hoping that the big man couldn’t tell how scared he was.

Blaine nodded. “He told me about you.” He planted his hands on his hips. “What were you doing just now?”

“Nothin'”

“Don’t mess with me, kid, I’m not in the mood.”

They stared at each other, Starsky daring the big man to challenge him, and Blaine deciding what he was going to do with the cocky youth. Finally, Blaine grabbed him by the arm and dragged him towards his car.

The string of foul language that came out of Starsky’s mouth was stemmed when Blaine grabbed him by the neck and pinned him against the car. “I don’t want to hear anymore of that trash coming out of your mouth, do you hear me?” When Starsky didn’t answer him, he tightened his grip. “Do you hear me?”

Tears sprang to Starsky’s eyes. “Yes,” finally came out, but barely.

Blaine released him again and pointed towards the car. “Get in.”

Starsky rubbed his neck. “What for?” He cleared his throat, trying to regain his voice.

“Just get in the car.” Blaine had rounded the front of the vehicle and was tugging open the driver’s door when Starsky finally obeyed the order.

They spent the rest of the afternoon downtown: Blaine in his office, Starsky in a cell. Blaine had gone through the motions of booking the young man, processing him, and sticking him in a cell, leaving him under the watchful eye of Officer Danner to make sure nothing happened to the kid. He got Al Starsky on the phone and told him what happened. Al was fit to be tied but calmed down when Blaine explained his solution to the problem. He then arranged for an undercover detective, posing as a criminal, to go into the cell to visit with Dave to give him a hard time. Well, the strategy worked. By the time Blaine returned to “bail” Starsky out, he was just about in tears, his taste of a jail cell was bile in his throat. When he saw Blaine, he scrambled to his feet and begged to be let out. He was, and Blaine drove him home.

That was the beginning of their relationship. Blaine turned him around, straightened him out, and became the father figure that David had so badly needed. Blaine instilled in him discipline and respect, and looking back at it now, Starsky was eternally grateful. If it weren’t for John Blaine, he wouldn’t be where he was today.

And now, sitting in the gymnasium, listening to the man who’d come to mean so much to him, he thought again about his father. I miss ya, Dad, but I know you’re lookin’ out for me. I’m gonna make ya proud. I’m gonna be the best damn cop this city has ever seen. The promise was made in silence, but he meant every word.

When the speeches finally wrapped up at 12:15, 60 weary cadets stood up and stretched their cramped muscles. They had been instructed to return to the academy grounds by 1:30, a half-hour later than scheduled because of the speeches running overtime. The break was very welcome.

Hutchinson stifled a yawn and rubbed his bleary eyes. “After that, I could use a coffee.”

“I’m starved. You wanna grab something to eat?” Colby slipped his jacket back on and was adjusting the collar.

“Yeah, why not.”

They fell in with the group exiting the gym. As they passed the table at the back of the room, Hutchinson noticed that the pretty redhead had disappeared, and he was a little disappointed. Damn, I wanted to get her number. He glanced around in case he had missed her.

“Who are you looking for?” Colby asked.

“Oh, nobody, just looking.”

“Sorry, buddy, but your Juliet already left with Romeo.”

“Oh.” Hutchinson tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but it didn’t work. So he tried to let on that it didn’t matter. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste, now, is there?”

Colby just laughed. The only sympathy he offered was a pat on the back.

All thoughts of the redhead disappeared as the two men headed off for lunch.

The first week passed pretty smoothly. By the second week, Hutchinson had gotten his bearings and was making his way around the academy building with ease. He had committed his schedule to memory, and his days were settling down into a nice regular routine, just the way he liked it. He was even beginning to enjoy his experience at the academy. He had gotten to know some of the guys he would be training with, and while most of them were okay, there were the odd ones that he’d just as soon stay clear of. They were bad news with bad attitudes, and how they ever made it this far was beyond him. But, all in all, he was satisfied with the way things were going.

On Thursday afternoon of that week, he was on his way to one of his classes when he ran into someone who seemed vaguely familiar.

The two men stopped and Hutchinson stepped to the left at the same time the stranger stepped to the right. When Hutchinson stepped to right, the stranger stepped left.

They had repeated the process a third time when the stranger grinned. “If we’re gonna stand here and dance, I wanna lead.”

In spite of himself, Hutchinson smiled back. “Sorry, I guess I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No problem.” The dark haired man clasped him on the shoulder and nodded before he stepped around Hutchinson and continued down the hall. Hutchinson watched the retreating back for a few seconds, trying to decide why he seemed so familiar. Then it hit him: orientation day, the guy who tried to hit on the girl. By the time it dawned on him, the guy had rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

Gee, Hutchinson thought to himself, I wonder if he got much farther with that redhead than I did.

Starsky was whistling to himself as he strutted down the corridor, the customary bounce in his step. He greeted guys as he passed them in the hall. He recognized faces more than anything, and he was beginning to get to know the guys in his unit though he was still working on attaching names to all of the faces. He had memorized his schedule of classes and knew he had his first Criminal Law class coming up. He just had to find Room 122. Piece of cake.

So far, the training had been pretty basic. He almost felt like he was back in high school at times, except in his high school, half of the students didn’t walk around in police uniforms, there were more girls, and they had more of a sense of humour then they did here. But then again, he wasn’t here for laughs, he was here to learn how to be a cop. As far as he was concerned, he already knew everything he needed to know. Well, almost everything.

Thanks to his brief stint in Vietnam, he already knew how to shoot a gun and follow orders. He was a pretty fair driver, maybe more than fair, he conceded. Truth was he could out drive anybody here blindfolded. And he never had trouble defending himself with his fists. He knew the streets like the back of his hand, it had been his playground since he’d arrived in Bay City. He knew the people, he knew the places, and he knew what was happening. What else did he need to know? A couple of law classes and he was set. He didn’t have much patience for sitting in a classroom taking notes and pushing papers, that’s why college had been out of the question. He wanted to be out on the street, where the people were, where things were happening, not stuck behind a stack of books, reading till his eyes crossed.

But wasn’t that exactly what he was doing?

Well, at least it won’t be for long, he consoled himself. The training was a total of six months: three months at the academy and three months probation on the street. Then he would be a cop, a real cop. Just like his dad.

And there was no doubt in his mind that he’d make it. No doubt what so ever.

 

By the time Friday rolled around, everyone was ready for the weekend, and as had become the daily routine, a bunch of the rookies hung around the gymnasium after their last class to work out a little and to let off some steam. Over in the corner, an impromptu basketball game was underway, the weight room contained a couple of guys spotting each other under the barbells, and over on the mats, Ken Hutchinson was giving a clinic on the finer points of wrestling.

He had pinned another guy to the floor before his adversary finally conceded. Laughing, Hutchinson pulled him to his feet.

“Okay, anybody else?” he challenged.

Everyone in the small group that surrounded him moved; some looked at the ceiling, some took a small step backwards.

“Hey, I bet I know someone who’ll have a crack at ya.” Sheldon Ripley bolted from the circle and interrupted the basketball game only to return moments later dragging a guy dressed in cut off jeans, a ratty baseball tee shirt, and blue sneakers that would have been more at home in a dumpster. Hutchinson recognized him immediately, it was the guy he nearly danced with yesterday afternoon in the hallway, the guy who picked up the girl at the orientation meeting.

“Come on, Starsk,” Sheldon was urging the dark haired guy. “Just give it a try will ya? None of us can take him down.”

Starsky and Sheldon Ripley had known each other from high school. They had been friends, but not close. Starsky had even dated Sheldon’s sister for a while. When their relationship ended, so had his contact with Sheldon. Sheldon was a nice guy and all, but he could really be a pain in the ass, like right now.

“Sheldon, look, I really don’t–”

“I’m telling ya, Starsk, if anybody can take him, you can,” Sheldon whispered.

“So? Why would I want to?” he whispered back.

“Ya gotta teach this guy a lesson. Hey, our honour is on the line here.”

“Then you fight him.”

“I did, we all did, and he took us all down. Come on, Starsk.”

Encouragement was coming from all angles to take a turn. Sighing in defeat, Starsky was immediately pushed into the human ring with a tall blonde man who looked vaguely familiar. Where had he seen him before?

They faced one another, each sizing the other up. The blonde was taller than he was and leanly muscled, Very athletic, Starsky thought. A runner maybe?

As they started to slowly circle each other, Hutchinson still wasn’t absolutely sure he had a challenger in the dark haired guy. He looked like he was half-asleep. Maybe the guy didn’t realize what he’d gotten himself into, he wondered to himself. After all, he had a pretty good record going here this afternoon. No one had been able to take him down. Taking this guy should be a piece of cake.

The stalking continued and generated boos from the interested spectators. Hutchinson glanced their way for a split second and that’s when it happened. He found himself lying flat on his back staring up at the lights. The dark haired guy was standing over him with his hands on his hips. Snickering could be heard from the watching gallery

Hutchinson sat up and climbed to his feet. They faced each other again, this time he eyed his opponent warily. This guy was fast, he thought, and a little unorthodox with his style. He was going to have to focus if he wasn’t going to get suckered again.

Trouble was his self-advice came a little too late. The dark haired guy deked to the left and swung back, throwing Hutchinson on to the mat with ease.

I must be slowing down, Hutchinson thought as he leaned back on his elbows and stared up at his opponent. He got to his feet once more and the circling continued.

“Come on, Hutchinson, this guy is smaller than you,” one of the spectators jeered.

His gaze never strayed from the dark haired guy; he’d learned his lesson the first time. The second time was a fluke. It had to be. He couldn’t do it a third time, could he?

His question was answered shortly afterwards. He zigged to the right, the dark haired guy zagged to the left. They met head on and with sheer brute power, his feet were lifted from the floor, and he was deposited in a heap on the mat.

As the other rookies filed out of the gym, Hutchinson stared at the ceiling and willed his back to stop aching. The acoustics of the gym made it impossible to ignore the comments and the laughs as the others left. Great, he thought, just great. Some cop I’m going to be. Can’t even take down a guy smaller than me. He rolled over and leaned on his elbows, dejection in the set of his shoulders. And it’s not bad enough that he bounced me around the room like a basketball, he had to do it in front of everybody. I am never going to live this down. Shit, and it’s only the second week!

“Lose somethin’?” The voice was amused, the accent, from New York. It even sounded a little familiar.

Hutchinson turned to look over his shoulder and groaned when he recognized who it was. “Just my dignity.” To himself he added, No thanks to you.

His dark haired adversary chuckled. Then there was a pregnant pause before he added, “Want it back?”

Maybe it was the way the words were uttered — quietly, confidently, like this stranger held the secret to the universe and was offering it to him. Hutchinson rolled over onto his hip and stared up into blue eyes, the shade of twilight, looking for — what? This man had just bounced him around the room and hadn’t even broken a sweat while he felt like he had been tossed out with the garbage. What else could he possibly want? Blood?

“I’m Starsky, Dave Starsky.”

“Hutchinson, Ken.” He shook the hand that was offered then let the smaller man pull him to his feet.

“You okay? I didn’t hurt’cha, did I?” There was actually concern in the blue eyes.

“No, of course not,” he replied, resisting the urge to rub his back. Instead, he straightened his disheveled clothes and combed his fingers through his hair. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Starsky grinned. “Yeah, I do that with most people.”

Hutchinson heard the irony in that statement, but he let it slide. After all he, too, had been guilty of underestimating him. “You handle yourself pretty well.”

“You too.”

The compliment seemed genuine enough even though it was far from the truth. His performance against Starsky stunk, he knew it. And so did Starsky. No one today would have ever guessed he’d been a star on his college wrestling team.

“Well, I’m a little rusty. I used to wrestle some in college.”

“No kiddin’?”

“I know, it was kinda hard to tell, wasn’t it?” He smiled, a little embarrassed.

“Nah, you did okay. You just need a little help with your technique, that’s all. We weren’t exactly fightin’ with college rules out there, at least I wasn’t.”

“Maybe that was the problem, I was.”

They both laughed at that then fell into a comfortable silence.

“You, uh, ready to hit the showers?”

Hutchinson chuckled to himself. Boy, was that an understatement. “Yeah, I’m more than ready.”

There must have been something in the way he said it, because Starsky gave him a wide grin. “Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.” They had just reached the locker room door when Starsky paused, and almost as an afterthought, said, “Hey, you hungry? I know this great place where they have the best burgers in town, wha’d’ya say? D’ya wanna grab somethin’ to eat?” When the blonde hesitated, he added, “I’ll buy.”

It took Hutchinson about five seconds to decide: cold tuna fish, a salad, and the television, or a hot meal and the company of another breathing human being. He smiled at Starsky. “You’re on.”

They headed for the showers.

 

An hour later, Hutchinson pulled his tan 1959 Ford Edsel in behind the white Mustang that belonged to Dave Starsky. Both men climbed out of their vehicles and met on the sidewalk in front of a rundown building.

“Well, this is it.” Starsky rubbed his hands together with delight.

Hutchinson, on the other hand, wasn’t as enthusiastic. “The question is ‘What is it?'” He looked apprehensively at the rundown building. The paint was peeling, the woodwork was rotting, and a large crack zigzagged across the window that housed a sign that announced ‘The Cave’ with an arrow pointing to the left. Following the direction of the arrow, he spied a shadowed staircase leading to a lower level. “Starsky, we can’t eat in there.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“It looks condemned. They probably don’t even have a license to operate.”

“Sure they do. A friend of mine is the bartender here. Come on, it’ll be okay. You’re gonna love it.” Starsky nudged Hutchinson’s arm and led the way to the stairs.

“Wait a minute, where’re we going?” Hutchinson asked cautiously, already knowing the answer.

“Downstairs.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, why?”

Hutchinson rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious? The place is falling apart. They shouldn’t even be in business. And what about the fire code? Has this place ever been inspected?”

“Sure,” Starsky hiked his eyebrows. “I happen to know they paid him off.” He skipped down the stairs and paused at the door, looking up at Hutchinson who still hadn’t budged. “Come on, will ya, I eat in here all the time.” He yanked on the door and disappeared into the bar.

“That’s really comforting.” Expelling his breath, Hutchinson descended the stairs warily and followed his new friend inside.

Once inside, Starsky headed straight for the bar where a pretty young woman with long blond hair was perched on a stool. Hutchinson lagged behind, his eyes darting to the ceiling in case it should suddenly crumble over his head. He said a silent prayer that California would not be subject to one of its frequent earth tremors. If it were, this place would surely be the first to go.

When Starsky noticed that Hutchinson hadn’t made it past the entrance, he rolled his eyes and went back for the other man. “Come on, Hutch, I’m telling ya, it’s gonna be okay. Will ya trust me?”

“Trust you, I barely know you.” He pulled his arm out of Starsky’s grasp and reluctantly followed him to the bar. “And the name is Hutchinson.”

Starsky’s response was interrupted by the blonde girl who had watched the exchange with a winsome smile. She addressed Starsky, but her eyes kept flickering to the man behind him.

“My, my, if it isn’t Dave Starsky. Hey, handsome, are the rumours I’m hearing about you true?” she drawled in a soft voice.

“That all depends, what’s the word, Sweet Alice?” Starsky rested a hip on the stool next to her and reached for a bowl of peanuts.

“The word is you’re gonna be a cop.”

Starsky tossed some nuts in his mouth. “News travels fast.”

Listening to the exchange with half an ear, Hutchinson looked around the bar. It was nothing special, seen one, you’ve seen them all, though the interior was a vast improvement compared to the outside of the building. It had the requisite jukebox, arcade games, mirror above the bar, pool table, and dart board. Unoccupied booths lined the far wall and small tables were sprinkled with patrons. Even though it was late afternoon and still sunny out, the room was pretty dark. About a dozen pendant lamps provided the only illumination making it difficult to see more than shadows in some parts of the room.

The blonde girl smiled widely, flirting with him. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises, Starsky?”

“Yeah, that and somethin’ else.” Another voice entered the conversation. This one was male.

When Hutchinson turned back to face the bar, all thoughts of the atmosphere were replaced by the approach of the bartender. He was a lean, tall black man dressed in red pants and a yellow tie-dyed t-shirt, a white apron tied around his skinny waist, and he was obviously the source of the comment. He walked as if his legs were attached to his hips with string. He looked almost comical.

Starsky made a face at him, indicating what he thought of the bartender’s opinion. “Will you just set us up, Hug?”

Ignoring the bartender, Sweet Alice slid off her barstool and walked around Starsky, sizing up Hutchinson, who was still preoccupied by the sight of the bartender. “So, Starsk, who’s your friend?”

Starsky dipped his hand into the peanut bowl again and tossed a couple in his mouth as he made the introductions. “Sweet Alice, Ken Hutchinson.” He leaned over to Sweet Alice conspiratorially and slipped into his best Bogart imitation. “Take it easy on him, Schweetheart, he’s a virgin in this neighbourhood.”

Turning to the girl, Hutchinson gripped her hand. Up close she was very attractive. Big blue eyes in a delicate face, a wide friendly smile that almost sparkled. Her clothing was a little provocative, but then she had a beautiful figure and seemed to enjoy showing it off. And he took it all in, including the faint smell of flowers that surrounded her. It made him wonder what a girl like Alice was doing in a dive like this.

“Don’t worry, Starsk, I’ll be real gentle with him…unless he asks otherwise,” she purred obviously enjoying Hutchinson’s attention. She ran one hand up his sleeve and tickled his ear with a pink fingernail.

The bartender placed two beers in front of the men, and Starsky nodded to him. “Hutch, this is a good friend of mine, Huggy Bear; Huggy Bear, I want’cha ta meet, Ken Hutchinson. Hutch is going to be a cop, too.”

Hutchinson was still processing Alice’s response when it dawned on him what it meant. His blue eyes widened in surprise, and suddenly, it was very important to untangle himself from Sweet Alice’s roaming hands. He corralled them with his left hand, keeping one eye on her, while he reached across the bar and shook the bartender’s hand with his right, again, correcting Starsky’s use of his name. “T-t-that’s Hutchinson.”

“How about bringing us two burgers, Hug. Onions, no pickles.”

Hutchinson was still distracted with the blonde girl, who had managed to extricate herself from his large grip and was in the process of snuggling up to him, her hand caressing his chest under his leather jacket. “Uh, pickles, no onions,” Hutchinson interjected, trying to back away from Alice. In doing so, he nearly fell over a barstool.

Starsky didn’t seem to notice the two of them. “One, onions, no pickles; the other, pickles, no onions.”

Neither did Huggy as he scribbled on his pad. “And your beverage? Or are you gonna stick with beer?”

“We’ll have Coke,” Starsky decided.

Holding Sweet Alice away from him, Hutchinson swung a quick glance at Huggy. “Could you make that ice tea?”

“One Coke, one ice tea.” Starsky confirmed the order.

Huggy looked from one to the other. “Fries on the side?”

“Yeah, make it a double order for me, Hug, and onion rings, lots of onion rings.”

“Could I just get a salad instead?” Hands still extended in front of him, Hutchinson kept both eyes on Sweet Alice, just in case. He had managed to put a little distance between them, and he planned to keep it that way.

“One double order of fries, lots of rings, and a salad,” Starsky repeated. “Ya got that?”

The black man regarded them with upraised eyebrows. “Yeah, I got that,” he answered indignantly. “Is there anything you two agree on?”

Starsky looked at the blonde man as if there was nothing going on beside him then back at Huggy. “Yeah, make it snappy, we’re starvin’.”

Shaking his head, Huggy left to place the order. Starsky spied his favourite booth and headed over to it.

Circling away from Sweet Alice, who finally got the hint that Hutchinson wasn’t buying and returned to her bar stool, Hutchinson caught up to Starsky and waited till they were out of earshot of the bar. “Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing the other’s arm. “Did you know that she’s a–a–” He couldn’t say it.

“A woman? Yeah, I noticed.”

“No, you know, a—-” he seemed to stumble over the word.

Starsky laughed at his stunned expression and the fact that his face had turned a bright pink. “Hutch, the word is hooker, and yeah, I know.” He slipped out of his leather jacket and dropped into the booth. “Do you expect me to believe that you’ve never seen a hooker before?” He was joking when he said it, but when Hutchinson turned a brighter shade of pink, his amusement turned to amazement.

As he climbed into the booth opposite Starsky, Hutchinson couldn’t seem to untangle his tongue. “Well, no, I–of course, I have, it’s just that….well, she doesn’t look like a– one, that’s all.”

Starsky’s eyebrows raised. “And just what does a hooker look like, Hutch? It’s not like they wear signs or somethin’, of course it might make their job a little easier if they did,” Starsky said conversationally, causing another wave of embarrassment to wash across Hutchinson’s face. “You really are a virgin in this neighbourhood,” Starsky laughed. “And you wanna be a cop? In this city?”

“Well, it’s just that where I come from—”

“They don’t have hookers?”

“Well, yeah, sure they do, but t-they just don’t look like that.” He looked over to the blonde girl who was chatting up a new arrival to the bar. “It’s just that– I mean, she seems so nice, pretty, how…?”

“Same old story. Sweet Alice is a nice girl who had some bad stuff happen to her. Her father used to beat her up all the time. She ran away from home at 16, ended up here looking for the Hollywood fantasy, but fell in with the wrong group of people.” He tipped his head and gave a little shrug. “Now this is what she does.”

Hutchinson looked over at the girl at the bar. “That stinks.”

“Yeah, it stinks, but that’s life, at least in this neighbourhood.” Starsky leaned back and laid his right arm on the back of the booth. “Sweet Alice is doin’ the best she can. We all are. Some are just doin’ better than others.”

Starsky let a silence fall between them, before changing the subject to more mundane things. They talked easily as they sipped their beers and waited for their dinner.

A little while later, once they had finished their burgers, Starsky launched into an off the cuff interrogation of his new friend. Not known for being very open about himself, especially with strangers, Hutchinson did his best to avoid answering Starsky’s probes, not that it did any good. The more he hesitated, the more questions Starsky asked. He was relentless, wanting to know everything–a prosecuting attorney could learn a few things from him. But the funny thing was, Hutchinson didn’t find it offensive or rude. The guy seemed to be really interested, though why, he had no idea. He found himself loosening up a bit and pretty soon, he was telling the other man about himself, starting with his reasons for wanting to become a cop. That led to his family and his childhood and the separation from his wife of 18 months. He poured out his story, all of it. He talked and talked and Starsky listened, the hooded blue eyes never strayed from his and neither did he try to interrupt. He smiled and asked questions when Hutchinson stalled, but for the most part, he sat and listened, his chin buried in his palm. Huggy made sure their glasses were rarely empty, and before Hutchinson realized it, it was past midnight. They had been there over five hours.

The bar had filled up quite a bit. Huggy swaggered over to the two men and interrupted their conversation.

“Anything else I can get for you two gentlemens?”

Starsky leaned back and stretched. “Naw, Hug. I’m good.” He checked with Hutchinson who also declined. “What do you say? Wanna call it a night? We’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.”

This was news to Hutchinson. He stared at Starsky. “We do?” He emphasized the “we”.

“Yeah.”

“And just what are “we” going to be doing?”

Starsky slid out of the booth, pulling his jacket with him. “Tomorrow, Blondie, I’m gonna teach ya how to fight.” He winked at Hutchinson before he headed off to the men’s room.

Huggy slid into the seat Starsky had just vacated, and leaned up against the wall, his knees bent and feet resting on the bench, eyeing Hutchinson, who seemed to be at a loss for words. “So, my man is gonna teach ya how to fight, huh?”

Hutchinson massaged his forehead and regarded the black man apprehensively. “I guess so.”

“Don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” Huggy said as he leisurely wiped the table down.

“You two know each other long?”

“Coupla years. He pulled my brass out of some serious fire awhiles back. I owe him a lot.”

“Is he always like this?”

“How do you mean?”

Hutchinson tried to come up with an adjective to describe the dark haired man but everything he thought of sounded dull compared to what he had learned about Starsky’s personality. The best he could come up with was “bouncy”.

Huggy laughed out loud. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.” He folded his towel as he thought about Hutch’s assessment of the man he had come to know so well. “Some people would call him intense, some might call him an oversized kid, and still others might call him the nastiest sonofabitch they’d ever met.” He smiled, more to himself than at Hutchinson. “I call him a friend.” Huggy paused, considering what he was about to say. “Starsky is the type of guy you want on your side no matter what. He’s good people. He’d go to the mat for you.”

Hutchinson’s mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “Funny, he had me there this afternoon. An’ I’ve got the bruises to prove it,” he snorted at the memory. He could just imagine what was going to transpire tomorrow if Starsky made good on his intention to teach him how to fight. But, after his sorry performance today, maybe he could learn something from this guy if he was all Huggy said he was.

Starsky returned to the table and pulled out his wallet to pay the tab. Peeling off a couple of bills, he stuffed them into Huggy’s hand. “Thanks, Hug. Come on, Hutch.” Starsky led the way to the door.

He also said his goodnights to Huggy. Following Starsky, the blonde man sighed in frustration. “It’s Hutchinson, Hut-chin-son.”

Starsky stopped and turned, and Hutchinson almost crashed into him.

Starsky had a puzzled look on his face. “But ‘cha don’t look like a Hutchinson. You look like a Hutch.”

Hutchinson shook his head and blinked. “W-What?” His face folded into a frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Hutchinson sounds like the butler or the chauffeur, and you don’t look like either one to me. You look like a ‘Hutch’.” Starsky could tell that his explanation wasn’t getting through to the blonde man, who looked at him like he had sprouted a third eye in his forehead. “You mean no one has ever called you Hutch before?”

“No one who wanted to keep walking upright.” There was his best friend, Jack Mitchell, but he didn’t count. Jack had been his best friend after all, and best friends were allowed certain privileges.

The veiled threat did nothing to deter Starsky. “Hey, don’t get uptight, Blondie, it was bound to happen sooner or later.” Starsky patted him on the shoulder and pulled the door open for him.

“No one has ever called me “Blondie” before, either,” Hutchinson muttered as he walked out of the bar, Starsky on his heels.

Huggy watched the two men leave and shook his head. If this was any indication of Bay City’s finest, the criminal element was in for quite a ride. He pulled himself out of the seat and retreated to the bar.

The evening was cool for Southern California. Starsky zipped up his leather jacket and pulled his keys out of his pocket.

“See, now, was that so bad?”

Hutchinson shrugged. “Colourful bunch. Doesn’t anyone use their real name?”

“What for? A name is just a name. This way, they have an identity, and in this neighbourhood, that’s something because they don’t have a whole lot of anything else.”

Hutchinson fell silent, thinking about what Starsky had said. Starsky changed the subject, giving Hutchinson directions to his place for the next day. Hutchinson nodded absently through his friend’s instructions, a small frown nestled between his brows. If Starsky noticed, he didn’t say anything, he just bid Hutchinson good night and roared away from the curb, leaving the blonde to watch his departure.

After Starsky left him, Hutchinson drove home and had a bite to eat before climbing into bed. That was two hours ago, and he was no closer to sleep than he had been when he slid under the blankets. Something was nagging at him, something he hadn’t quite put his finger on, but there was something. He lay in bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling trying to figure out what that something was. He let his thoughts drift.

David Starsky, what a guy. They had spent the entire evening together and he still hardly knew anything about him, other than they shared a similar out look on life. It turned out that they were about the same age, the difference only being a few months. But that was where the similarities between them stopped. Physically, Starsky was a bit shorter than Hutchinson’s 6’1″ height and a bit stockier where he was lean, although they weighed about the same. Starsky had a head full of dark brown, natural curls that sprung out in every direction at will. His nose was too long for his face and his mouth too wide. He should have been ugly by every definition, but when all the features were combined, they went together in an appealing way, If you liked the dark, brooding type, Hutchinson thought. The guy should really get a hair cut. That and a shave and he probably wouldn’t look half-bad. But the thing that unnerved Hutchinson the most was Starsky’s eyes. Sure, the colour was unusual, blue almost violet, but it was the way Starsky seemed to look right inside him like he could see into his soul. No one had ever made him feel that way before. He had always been able to guard his thoughts and emotions behind a stoic mask of superiority and indifference. He believed that opening oneself up left you vulnerable and exposed, unprotected. Experience had taught him that lesson the hard way, and it was one he remembered well. So, what was it about this guy that made him feel like his skin had been peeled back? And there was something else, something Starsky had said to him earlier that refused to go away. It had struck a nerve, and it had been hovering at the edge of his mind ever since.

A name is just a name, this way they have an identity.

The words swirled around in his mind like a fog, obscuring the meaning that was just beyond his grasp. Why was it bothering him so much? Was it because of the people he had met that night? They obviously didn’t have the advantages he had enjoyed thanks to his father’s wealth and influence. Advantages he had as of late turned his back on in order to pursue this dream of his–becoming a cop.

A name is just a name, this way they have an identity.

And what did he have? His father’s name, his mother’s fair looks, and society breeding. He had been molded and groomed to be Kenneth Richard Hutchinson II, but just who was that. I’m my father’s son, my mother’s oldest child, my sister’s big brother and my wife’s husband. But who am I?

A name is just a name, this way they have an identity.

The question weighed heavily on him, smothering him with the reality that he didn’t have his own identity anymore. Then again, did he ever? All of his life he couldn’t be accepted for who he was, he had to be somebody at least in his family’s eyes, and when he married, Vanessa’s eyes. The pressure had been overwhelming and maybe that was what prompted him to make his escape to California and get away from the life everyone thought he should live. He could remember the day he told Vanessa he wanted to be a cop. She’d looked at him with that icy stare of hers and burst out laughing like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. That prompted a huge fight, with both of them laying their cards on the table. It was that moment when Hutchinson saw the real woman he’d married, not with the eyes of a man in love for the first time, but with the eyes of a man who had gotten fed up with living under someone else’s rules, including his wife’s. He had at that moment declared his independence for the first time in his life. When Vanessa told him she was leaving, he was surprised that it didn’t break his heart.

He was actually relieved.

When his parents found out about his decision, a second battle erupted. His father ranted about the money invested in his education, the amount of time he spent at college, the lack of prestige that came with being “just” a cop, the fact that there was no future in police work, and did he want to spend the rest of his life in the poor house? His father’s words were a painful memory. After all, he was Kenneth Richard Hutchinson II, how would it look for his son to run around all day playing cops and robbers and not put his considerable assets to good use? Well, Hutchinson thought, somebody better tell Kenneth Richard Hutchinson I that his son didn’t care. And he didn’t.

His parents took the news of the broken marriage in much the same way. They were furious and disappointed in him. His father demanded that the two of them get back together immediately. He wasn’t interested in listening to his son’s side of the story. So he walked out. Out of his father’s house, out of his life, and out from underneath his influence. He walked away from his old life, and walked towards a new one.

So here he was, embarking on a path that both excited him and scared him. He had made the decision and took the necessary steps to become a cop. Because of it, his father wasn’t speaking to him, his wife was divorcing him, and mother worried daily that he was going to get himself killed. He was living in a city that was foreign to him, training for a job that up until a few months ago, he would have scoffed at, and having no one around that he knew. But he hadn’t looked back.

Until tonight.

A name is just a name, this way they have an identity.

And just what is my identity? he wondered.

Hutch.

The word barreled out of his subconscious like a cannonball.

Hutch.

It grew louder and louder.

Hutch.

He said it to himself

“Hutch.” It floated softly off into the darkness.

And the tumblers to the lock on his soul aligned and something opened up. It had been released. And he knew exactly what it was.

It was himself.

“Hutch.” The word came naturally to his lips and to his ears. “Hutch.”

You look like a Hutch, Starsky’s words reverberated in his head. Starsky was right, he was absolutely right. How could Starsky have seen it? From the beginning, Starsky called him Hutch. You look like a Hutch. At first, the shortening of his name had annoyed him, but Starsky was right. And so was Jack Mitchell. His heart started to pound faster with dawning realization. Jack, his best friend in high school, used to call him Hutch. He had been the only one up until tonight. Up until Starsky had pegged him Hutch. It made him wonder. Did Starsky see the same thing that Jack Mitchell saw all those years ago? You look like a Hutch. Had they had been able to see something in him that no one else had. They saw him as Hutch. A person in his own right. Not his father’s namesake, not his mother’s first born, not his sister’s big brother, and not Vanessa’s old man. He was Hutch.

“Hutch,” he murmured to the silent walls. “You can call me Hutch.”

It sounded right, it felt right, and a ghost of a smile hovered around his mouth.

And it was all because of David Starsky.

It was Starsky that had started this whole thing. He replayed the evening in his head like he was watching a film in a theatre. He and Starsky had talked about everything and anything, but mostly about himself. He felt like he had known Starsky all his life. He told him things that he had never told anybody before, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. What was so special about Dave Starsky? The guy was….. different. There was something about him that was different. It was strange enough that they had hit it off so well. It was even stranger that Hutch revealed so much about himself to Starsky. But it was funny, he felt no pressure when he was with him–no pressure to be anyone other than who he was, no pressure to hide behind an identity that wasn’t his, no pressure to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. The realization was startling. For the first time in his life, he had met someone that didn’t expect anything from him. Didn’t want anything from him except his friendship. There were no games, no conditions, no ulterior motives. Just acceptance. Starsky took him at face value.

And it was a nice feeling.

 

The next morning, just before noon, Hutch pulled the Edsel up in front of a small neatly kept bungalow.

Checking the address again, he shut down his car, climbed out, and approached the building with the intention of knocking on the front door. A noise from the garage caught his attention, and he noticed two denim-clad legs sticking out from under the white Mustang.

Squatting down beside the car, he peered underneath. “Good morning.”

There was a muffled curse and the sound of metal hitting the pavement. “Mornin’.” Starsky wriggled out from beneath the car, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“You okay?” Hutch asked as it was obvious Starsky had been struck on the forehead with one of his tools. He pulled him to his feet.

“Oh, yeah. I’ll live,” Starsky replied rubbing the red spot on his forehead.

“Car trouble?”

“Naw, just a little routine maintenance while I was waiting for you. Let me clean up a bit, and we can get started.” Starsky disappeared into the house leaving Hutch to wander around the garage.

When Starsky returned a few minutes later, he had washed up and changed clothes. The grease-stained jeans and red t-shirt were replaced with a fresh pair of Levi’s and a navy blue tee. Starsky was tucking the t-shirt into his jeans when he rejoined Hutch.

“I’ve been thinking,” Hutch said when Starsky stopped in front of him.

“Whats’at?”

“I already know how to fight, there isn’t a whole lot you can teach me. What do you say we forget the whole thing?”

Starsky smiled knowingly. “You wanna forget the whole thing.”

“Yeah,” Hutch shrugged.

“So, what you’re saying is that yesterday was a fluke. Me takin’ you down like that.”

“Well, maybe not a fluke, but …”

“But I couldn’t do it again.”

“Of course not. I told you, I wrestled in college, and I was pretty good.”

“Okay, prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“First one who hits the ground loses.”

Hutch grinned at Starsky’s challenge. “Okay, name it.”

Starsky thought for a second. “Loser buys tonight.”

“Okay, you’re on.” Hutch shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the back porch. He pulled his keys out of his pants pocket, and they landed on his jacket. He stretched his shoulders and swung his arms to warm up while Starsky watched with an amused expression.

“Ready?”

“If you are. Loser buys, right?”

“Loser buys,” Starsky confirmed with a confident smile.

The two men moved over to the grassy backyard, and in an instant replay of the day before, circled each other warily, neither one opting to make the first move. Then before Hutch could react, Starsky had him flat on his back, staring up at the sky just like he did the day before in the gymnasium.

Starsky leaned over the prone man. “I guess that means you’re buying.” His face split into a wide toothy grin as he offered Hutch a hand up.

Back on his feet again, Hutch stared at his smaller friend. “How did you do that?”

“Physics.”

“Physics,” Hutch repeated.

“Yeah, didn’t you take physics in high school?” Hutch nodded, annoyed at being Starsky’s victim again. “It’s all a matter of physics. Come here, I’ll show ya.”

The rest of the day was spent together, Starsky the teacher, Hutch the pupil. Starsky showed him techniques and moves, and how to use his size to his advantage. He taught him as he was taught from living on the street as a kid, and from what his mentor, John Blaine, had instilled in him about boxing. Starsky’s style was no real style at all–and that was why it worked so well. He used everything he had to his advantage and everything his opponent had to his disadvantage. He focused on the vulnerable areas, the weaknesses, he used speed and agility to keep his opponent off guard, and then there was what he considered his secret weapon. And that was what he was trying to get through to Hutch with not much success.

Starsky shook his head and threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You’re too nice, you don’t have that killer instinct.”

“I just don’t see what that has to do with it,” Hutch retorted. He was tired, he was hungry, and his patience was beginning to grow thin.

“It’s all in your attitude. You have that ‘golden boy’ way about you. It must be your background. You had it too good growing up, you never had to fight for anything in your life. And it shows. And if it shows to me, it’s gonna show to the people out on the street.”

“Starsky, my background has nothing to do with me being a cop.”

“You just don’t get it. Guys on the street are going to take one look at you and laugh. They’re gonna eat you alive.”

“Awe, come on.” Why was Starsky attacking him all of a sudden? The chiding started a slow burn in Hutch’s stomach– and this one had nothing to do with lack of food.

“You’ve got a target pasted right between your eyes, Blondie, and they’ll be lining up for a turn to take you down.”

“Now, wait a minute.”

“Face it, you’re in the wrong line of work.”

He pointed a long finger at Starsky in warning. “That’s enough.” He was irritated before, now he was getting angry.

“You should be back in Duluth using your fancy degree to push papers around, that’s all it’s good for. Go work for Daddy, leave the real jobs for men who can do them.”

That did it.

 

The blonde man grabbed two fistfuls of blue t-shirt and hauled Starsky up, slamming him into the garage wall and cutting off his wind. They were nose to nose. “Okay, pal,” he practically spat the word. “I’ve had it up to here with your cocky attitude. I think it’s about time someone wiped that smart-ass smile off your face.” Starsky’s eyes widened in surprise as he fought to regain his balance. He grabbed Hutch’s wrists and tried to break the hold. Hutch held on, hoisting him a little higher, one leg pinning Starsky’s to the wall. His blue eyes glittered like chips of ice as he stared into Starsky’s startled eyes.

Neither man moved, the only sound was Hutch’s laboured breathing.

“Hutch,” Starsky finally croaked. “Lemme go. I was only kidding.”

It took a few seconds before Hutch’s anger defused at Starsky’s strangled words. He relaxed his grip and let the dark haired man regain his footing. Starsky massaged his throat and looked at Hutch as he tried to catch his breath.

“That,” Starsky said, sucking in air, “was much better.”

What did he just say? “What?” The blonde was confused.

Starsky’s face dissolved into a relieved, but slightly sheepish grin. “You just passed.”

Hutch stepped back and tried to figure out what Starsky was talking about. “I was just about to take your head off and all you’ve got to say is I just passed?”

“I wanted to make you mad so you’d act with your gut, not with your head.” Starsky tugged at his dishevelled t-shirt and tucked it back in his jeans. “Remember that, it’s gonna save your ass one day.”

A frown creased Hutch’s forehead as he tried to figure out what had just transpired. Starsky had gone out of his way to goad him into attacking him just to make a point. The guy had to be certifiable.

“You mean all that stuff you said….?

“I was trying to make you mad.”

“Were you ever hit on the head as a child?”

Starsky laughed out loud. “Lots of times.”

“Explains a lot.” He sighed, releasing the rest of the tension from his body. “Okay then, now what do we do?”

“We practice.” Starsky paused for a second. “Hey, Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not really cocky, am I?”

Hutch looked at him. He’d said it. There was no tap dancing around that, so he opted for the truth. “Yeah, Starsky, you are.” And as an afterthought, he added, “But somehow, you make it work.”

Starsky thought about it for a second. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The subject was dropped.

The training session continued. Starsky wanted to make sure that Hutch had gotten the point of his tutelage, and Hutch for his part, wanted to prove to Starsky that he had. They threw each other around the back yard, laughing and joking with each other like they had been the best of friends all their lives. Starsky called a halt to the proceedings about a half hour later. He was lying in the grass, flat on his back, spread eagle, exhausted.

“That’s it, I’ve had it.”

Hutch collapsed beside him, just as drained. “Me, too.” He was tired, but he felt good. And surprisingly he had learned something from Starsky. Because of it, he had never felt more confident in himself in his life. He sighed.

“What?” Starsky turned to look at him.

Hutch smiled a half smile and met Starsky’s eyes. “Thanks for doing this.” His bolstered confidence pushed the words out of his mouth. He never would have had the strength to say that before.

Starsky returned the half smile. “Forget it.”

The two men just looked at each other.

“Now what?” Hutch broke the silence.

Starsky rolled over, got to his knees, and stood up, stretching out his overused muscles. He pulled Hutch to his feet. “Now, we eat.”

He followed Starsky to the back porch of the house and collected his coat and car keys as Starsky held the door open for him. “I want to introduce you to a very special lady.” Once inside, Starsky kicked off his shoes, as did Hutch, and they walked into the kitchen.

The smell of a rich Italian spaghetti sauce met them at the doorway. Standing at the stove, was a petite woman in her 50’s, wrapped in an apron, stirring the contents of a Dutch oven.

“Aunt Rosie, I want’cha to meet a friend of mine.”

The woman turned and laid her spoon across the top of the pot. She wiped her hands on her apron. “You are all finished playing, yes?” The words were spoken indulgently.

Starsky explained to his aunt with a smile, “We weren’t playing, Aunt Rosie, we were training.”

“You look like children out there. And look at you, David.” She threw up her hands, her Italian heritage evident in the gesture.

Starsky ignored her chastising and continued with the introductions. “Aunt Rosie, this is my friend, Ken Hutchinson. Hutch, this is my aunt, Rosie Starsky.”

Rosie’s hand disappeared in Hutch’s and she looked up into his face. “Nice to meet you, Ken. How do you know my David?”

When Starsky tried to answer, she shushed him

Hutch smiled. “We’re attending the academy together. We met in the gym yesterday.”

“Very good, very good. You will be a policeman, too?”

“I sure hope so.” The smile became a grin.

“I am very glad. David’s father was a policeman, too, did you know that?”

Hutch looked at Starsky with raised eyebrows. “No, he never mentioned it.”

An unspoken message passed between aunt and nephew. And then it was gone.

“Never mind, we talk about that another time.” She returned her attention to her spaghetti sauce. “Both of you go clean up, you will not sit at my table like that.”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Starsky,” Hutch said, stealing a glance at Starsky, “but I’m not staying for dinner.”

“You will stay.”

“Thank you for the offer, but…”

“I am not offering, I am telling–you will stay.”

“But–.”

The older lady held up her hand, which was enough to stop the protest that had formed on Hutch’s lips. He glanced at Starsky, who just smiled and shrugged. Hutch sighed, knowing the battle had been lost. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

Rosie shooed them out of her kitchen and into the bathroom to wash up, and like school children, they obeyed. Starsky furnished Hutch with a clean shirt before they both returned to eat their meal.

When dinner was over, Hutch leaned back in his chair and rubbed his full stomach. “Mrs. Starsky, that was fantastic. Thanks for inviting me to stay.”

“You are welcome, Ken,” she patted his shoulder, “and you call me Rosie.”

“Thanks– Rosie.” The familiarity made him a little uncomfortable. Somehow, this lady deserved the use of her full name.

“Now, you two, clean off the table, and then you go.”

The clean up crew took minutes to put everything away leaving a small pile of dirty dishes beside the sink. Rosie had just finished wiping down the table and dumping the crumbs in the garbage when her nephew came up behind her, wrapped his arms around the diminutive woman in a bear hug that lifted her off the floor, and planted a wet, messy kiss on her cheek.

“David, put me down.” The words would have been a stern command had they not been accompanied by a girlish giggle.

He put her back on the floor but maintained his hold, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Have I told you today that I love you?”

She leaned into his embrace and smiled indulgently. “Only three or four times.”

“I’m slippin’ then.” He kissed her cheek again, this time with restraint, and she reached up and patted his cheek.

“I love you too, bambino. You go now. Take Ken and go have fun.”

Hutch had been watching the exchange with a wide smile. There was a lot of love in this house, you could see it, you could feel it. It was unlike the sterile environment he had been brought up in where expressing emotions was frowned upon. For that matter, having emotions was frowned upon. It was a sign of weakness according to his father. “People play on the emotions of others and can take advantage of you.” Again, his father’s voice echoed in his brain. But this time, he had an answer. Not in this house, Dad.

Starsky headed for the door and motioned for Hutch to follow him. On an impulse, Hutch went over to Rosie and kissed the back of her hand. He didn’t say anything when she smiled. She didn’t say anything either. It was almost as if she could read his thoughts. He squeezed her hand lightly before following Starsky out the door.

They drove over to The Cave in Hutch’s car. The little bar had already begun filling up with the regular Saturday night crowd by the time the two men arrived. Even so, Starsky still managed to commandeer his favourite booth. A waitress appeared and took their order.

“You know, this isn’t such a bad place.” Hutch said, looking around.

“Are you saying that just because that pretty little blonde waitress just about fell out of her blouse?” Starsky murmured under his breath.

The two men eyed the waitress approvingly as she sashayed back to the bar.

“Well, I must admit,” Hutch smiled, “it certainly didn’t hurt.” But when he turned back to Starsky, there was disappointment in his blue eyes. “But, I’m not into babysitting, and she can’t be more than 18 years old.”

“Really,” agreed Starsky, tearing his gaze away from the buxom blonde.

“That reminds me, that redhead at the orientation meeting, the one at the table?”

“Yeah, what about her?”

“Did you ever get anywhere with her?”

“Why? Do you need lessons in that, too?” Starsky teased him.

“Ha Ha,” Hutch replied dryly. “Keep dreamin’, chump.”

“What’d’ya mean? You’re the one who’s dreamin’,” Starsky snorted. “Face it, she wasn’t your type.”

“And how would you know what my type is?”

“Simple. If she’s my type, then she wouldn’t be your type.”

“Oh? Is that so? Listen, I’ll have you know that I happen to be quite popular with the ladies. As a matter of fact, I could attract any woman I wanted to, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Starsky slid his fair-haired friend a sidelong glance. “Listen, pal, the only thing you attract is flies.”

“Really? Care to make a little wager on that?” Hutch challenged, enjoying the exchange.

“Depends on how much you can afford to lose.”

“I can afford just as much as you can, buddy boy.”

“Alright. What’re the stakes?” This was beginning to get interesting.

“Twenty bucks says I can make a date faster than you can.”

“You might as well hand over your money right now, Blondie,” Starsky laughed. “You forget, this is my neighbourhood.”

“Maybe, but why don’t we let the ladies decide?”

“Okay, you’re on.”

The easy camaraderie that had bantered back and forth screeched to a halt when John Colby appeared beside the booth.

“Hey, Ken. So this is where you’ve been hiding out.”

“Hey, John.” They shook hands. “Have you met Dave Starsky?”

“Can’t say that I have.” He frowned trying to draw on a memory. “You look familiar though.” He shook hands with Starsky trying to place the face.

Hutch filled him in. “Orientation Day, the girl…..?”

“Oh, yeah.” Colby nodded in recognition, then turned to Hutch. “What are you doing? Picking up pointers?”

Starsky burst out laughing while Hutch scowled. “Geez, John, nice of you to stop by. Sorry you can’t stay.” He winked at Starsky.

“Come on, Ken, I was only joking.”

“I know, I know,” Hutch chuckled. “You want to sit down?” He slid over to give Colby some room. To Starsky, he explained, “John is with me in Blue Squad,” to Colby, “Starsky is on the Red Squad.”

The waitress arrived with their beers, and Colby put in an order for one for himself. Three pairs of eyes watched her return to the bar.

“So, what brings you here tonight, John?” Hutch asked.

“I thought I saw that thing you call a car parked outside and came in to see if was you.”

“You noticed his ride, too, huh?” Starsky asked Colby as he took a drink of his beer.

“How could you miss it?”

“Hey, wait a minute.” Hutch’s head swiveled between the two of them. He knew he was the victim of some serious teasing, but he felt obligated to defend his car. “That car is a classic.”

“Yeah, it should be in a museum,” Starsky murmured.

“Or a scrap yard,” Colby agreed.

Hutch pretended to be indignant. “I’ll have you know that buying that car was the best $300 bucks I ever spent.”

“You actually gave somebody money for that hunk a’ junk?” Colby exclaimed.

“It’s not a hunk a’ junk.”

“No, it’s worse,” Starsky added, curling his lip. “It’s an Edsel.”

Hutch took the ribbing well. “Go ahead, make jokes. That car was good enough to get your sorry ass over here.”

“The only reason I agreed to come with you in your car is so I could help you push when it broke down,” Starsky grinned, generating a laugh out of Colby.

Hutch turned to Colby. “Don’t encourage him.”

Hutch’s mock outrage only made Colby laugh harder and Starsky join him. Soon, the three of them were laughing.

The waitress appeared with Colby’s order and the three men paused in their conversation to watch her walk away… again.

“Mmmm, too bad she wasn’t on the menu,” Colby murmured in appreciation. Hutch responded with an arched eyebrow, Starsky, a lazy grin. “Say, this is quite the place. At first, I thought it was condemned.”

“It’s all part of the ambiance. It keeps the clientele exclusive,” Starsky commented dryly.

“I’ll bet. You live around here Starsky?”

“Not too far. How ’bout you?”

“I live on Chandler. I’ve got a one-room apartment there. It’s all I can afford until we start drawing some pay. And that won’t be for another week. I don’t know how they expect us to live on that little money.”

“It’s the life of a cop, John, you’d better get used to it.” Hutch took a drink of his beer.

“Yeah, if you’re in it for the money, you picked the wrong line of work,” Starsky said.

“Well, it was either that or the Air Force. I thought I’d try the cops first.”

Hutch’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “The Air Force?” He and Starsky exchanged glances. “There’s a war on or have you forgotten?”

Colby shrugged. “Yeah, I know.”

Hutch stared at Colby in disbelief. “John, are you that eager to go into combat?”

Colby turned his beer glass around in his fingers. “I thought about that. I’m not interested in crawling around in rice paddies all day long, up to my chest in muck, waiting to picked off by some slant-eyed sniper like a duck in a shooting gallery. That’s why I figured I’d join the Air Force.” He leaned across the table conspiratorially. “The way I see it, from the air, it’s a different war. You get up in the morning, you get your mission, you fly it, you drop your load, you go back to the base, drinks in the officer’s club by 5:00. Simple.”

Starsky was staring at Colby with a strange look on his face. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was this guy that naive?

Hutch was speaking again. “I don’t know, John. I’ve been watching what’s going on over there on the news. It doesn’t look that simple.”

Starsky had been debating whether to get involved in this discussion or not. “It isn’t simple,” he said quietly. “It’s the same war no matter where you are. On the ground, in the air. Once you’ve been over there, you never see things quite the same again.” He regretted his words the instant he said them as he waited for the inevitable question.

“How would you know, Starsk?” Hutch asked him.

Starsky stared at his glass, reluctant to answer. He did anyway. “I spent nine months over there. Got a shoulder full of shrapnel and a messed up leg for my trouble.”

His announcement got the expected results. A vacuum. Like someone sucked all the air out of the room.

Hutch and Colby fell silent

Starsky hated talking about his brief stint in Vietnam. Given the choice, he preferred to forget that it ever happened. But this guy, Colby, seemed to think that it was some kind of party, that everything was cut and dried, black and white. And thinking like that could get you killed. He felt almost obligated to set him straight, after all, he was a friend of Hutch’s, right?

He leveled his hooded gaze at Colby, if for no reason than to try and talk some sense into the guy. “Listen, the TV makes it seem like it’s a big adventure over there. I’ve seen things and done things that I don’t ever want to remember. And if you’re lucky enough to stay out of it, then do it.” He downed the rest of his beer and summoned the waitress, hoping that the subject would be dropped but knowing it was never that easy.

Thoughtful of what Starsky had just revealed, Hutch tipped his glass back and downed its contents just so he didn’t have to respond. If Starsky had done his level best to blindside him, it wouldn’t have surprised him half as much as his quietly spoken words did. Starsky was in Vietnam? He’d heard stories of what it was like and he shuddered. Then something occurred to him. Yesterday, in the locker room, the faint scars on Starsky’s back. He had absently wondered where they came from. Now he knew. Funny he hadn’t mentioned it last night.

When the waitress arrived, both Starsky and Hutch requested a refill. Colby just stared at his. This time, none of them watched the waitress leave.

A few tension filled beats passed until Colby broke the silence. “Were you scared?”

Starsky looked at him, trying to determine what was really behind the simply stated question. The other man didn’t look away, didn’t flinch. Starsky gave him credit for that. He sighed and returned his attention to his beer. “As scared as anyone could be in a strange country, in the middle of a war that you never should’ve been in in the first place, shooting at people who never did anything to you, hoping that you’re gonna stay in one piece long enough to make it back home.” His voice vibrated with emotion. He really wished he hadn’t opened his big mouth.

Another few beats. Then Colby asked, “So why are you gonna be a cop?”

“What?”

“So why are you gonna be a cop?” When Starsky gave him a puzzled look, he continued. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it? A war? Aren’t you just substituting one for the other?” Colby challenged.

Starsky let the question settle between them. “Colby, how old are you?”

It was Colby’s turn to look puzzled. “Twenty-two.”

“Have you ever killed anyone? Have you ever seen anyone die in front of you?”

“No.” Colby’s chin rose, a touch of defiance in the hard line of his mouth, in eyes that suddenly seemed cold.

Starsky stared at him, taking in the neat hair cut, the boyish good looks, the prep school clothes. Colby would have been hard pressed to pass as twenty-two. He looked more like eighteen. And besides, what did he know about war? Not a damn thing. What was the point in arguing with him? He was just a kid, he should be playing football for some university, getting a degree in something useful, instead of sitting here, discussing what it was like to kill a man. Starsky turned away, suddenly no longer interested in trying to teach the kid a lesson. If he was going to be a cop, he was going to learn sooner or later anyway. Maybe in this case, later was better.

He slid across the seat and climbed out of the booth.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Colby asked him.

“I gotta go to the john.” That was a lie, he didn’t have to really, he just wanted to get away from the conversation and Colby for a few minutes. He headed over to the far side of the bar and disappeared into the men’s room.

He was leaning on a sink, staring at his reflection when the door opened and Hutch walked in.

Hutch came over and settled a hip against the adjacent sink.

“Hey, you okay?” Hutch asked, concern creasing his forehead.

Starsky released a deeply held sigh and met his friend’s eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. I just needed to get away for a few minutes.”

A small grin tugged at the corner of Hutch’s mouth. “Colby can be something else, huh?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s something else alright,” Starsky agreed. What that something was he couldn’t quite put his finger on. “Hey, Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“You and this Colby kid good friends?”

“No, not really. Met him on Orientation Day. We’ve hung out a bit together at lunch, but that’s about it, why?”

“Nothin’, just wondering.” Truth was he didn’t know why himself. “So you don’t know him that well, then?”

Hutch turned to look at Starsky’s profile. “No, why?”

Starsky shrugged noncommittally, “No reason. Just wondering.”

He wondered where Starsky was going with his absent line of questioning. “Starsky, you got something on your mind?”

The shoulders shrugged again. Silence fell between them.

After a little while, Starsky let out a weary sigh. “I just can’t believe where he’s comin’ from.”

Hutch would be the first person to agree with him. He wasn’t quite sure where Colby was coming from either. But still, Starsky seemed to be really upset about this. “Come on, Starsky. Don’t let Colby get to ya. You said it yourself, he’s just a kid.”

Starsky straightened and turned to face Hutch. His hands came up unconsciously, a habit Hutch had noticed about his friend. It was almost as if Starsky’s hands had to be in motion to help him speak. If that were the case, it worked. Starsky finally blurted out what was bugging him. “Hutch, he just seems so cold.”

“Maybe that’s just the way he is,” Hutch offered in Colby’s defence.

Starsky was about to say something else when he clamped his mouth shut. “Yeah, maybe.” The hands stopped their visual punctuating.

“Starsky, Colby is a rich kid who doesn’t know what he wants out of life. He just graduated from Berkley. He’s stretching his wings. He’s looking for an adventure.”

“If he goes to Vietnam, he’s gonna get more than he bargained for.”

“Maybe.” Hutch conceded with a tilt of his head. “But that’s his decision to make. It’s not up to you to save him.”

Starsky slouched against the sink and closed his eyes. The thought of someone having to go through the horror that he knew as Vietnam made him shudder. But Hutch was right. If that’s what Colby wanted, well, who was he to stop him? He opened his eyes again. Hutch was still there, still looking at him.

“Okay?”

Was it? “Yeah.”

“Sure?”

Was he? “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Hutch slapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get out of here before people start to talk.”

Starsky’s mouth twitched. “Don’t flatter yourself, Blondie, I could do better than you.”

Caught off guard by Starsky’s dry humour, Hutch laughed. “Sorry, Starsk, you’re not my type, I prefer blondes.”

“Speaking of which, we still have a bet, don’t we?”

“A bet?” Their earlier conversation filtered back. “Oh, the bet.” Hutch nodded. “I don’t know if twenty bucks is enough, Starsk.”

They were about to leave the men’s room when, from the other side of the door, they heard shouting followed by what sounded like a loud clap. To Starsky, it sounded more like a gunshot. Starsky’s frown met Hutch’s questioning blue eyes.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Starsky murmured.

“Was that–?”

“A gun shot?” Starsky filled in the blank for him.

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh!”

“What in the hell–?”

“My guess is we’re being robbed.”

There were a few heartbeats of silence as both men stared wide-eyed at each other. They were tense–ready to snap into action at a moment’s notice. Problem was, neither one knew what to do.

Hutch ran down their options.

“Are we close to the back door?” he asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Phone?”

“Nope.”

“Window?”

“Barred.”

“What?”

“They’ve had trouble with break ins lately,” Starsky explained, his anxiety growing.

“No kidding,” Hutch shot back wryly. He was trying not to panic.

Starsky brightened. “Hey, what would Bogey do in a situation like this?”

“Bogey who?”

“Bogart, Humphrey Bogart.”

“Starsky, Humphrey Bogart is an actor. This isn’t a movie. This is real life.”

“I know. But what’s that saying? Life imitates art? Or is it art imitates life?” His forehead creased as he tried to remember the saying.

“Will you forget that,” Hutch hissed at him. “We’ve got to do something.”

“I know that,” Starsky snapped back. “I’m thinkin’.”

Hutch shouldered past Starsky and opened the door a crack, peeking out. There was nothing to see, but he could still hear movement in the bar. At least there wasn’t any more shooting. He wondered how Colby was doing.

Hutch pulled back and eased the door shut again. “Do you know if they keep a gun in here?”

“No gun.”

He turned to face Starsky. “How do you know?”

“Hutch, this is the men’s room.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Not here here, here in the bar.”

“Oh.” Starsky shook his head at the question.

Hutch sighed, frustrated. This was an impossible situation. How in the world were they going to get out of it?

“What should we do?”

Starsky said nothing, just stared at his friend, the threads of an idea weaving their way together. Hutch could almost hear the wheels turning in Starsky’s brain.

He waited expectantly. “What? You got something?”

Starsky moved over to the door and took up Hutch’s post, taking a look for himself. Evidently satisfied with what he saw, he said, “Come on, follow me.”

Hutch grabbed him by the arm before he could get very far. “Where? Out there?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Are you nuts?”

Starsky held out his hands, trying to placate his agitated friend, “Hey, I’ve got an idea.” Hutch still had a grip on his arm. “Ever play Blind Man’s Bluff?” Hutch nodded. “Well, I’m gonna show ya how we play it here.”

In the bar, two gunmen were herding patrons into the far corner of the room, demanding the contents of their wallets. As the nervous customers tried to comply, one of the gunmen skipped back behind the bar and hit “no sale” on the cash register. As he did that, the lights went out.

The room plunged into blackness. Some of the women screamed. One guy yelled. One of the gunmen panicked and his gun went off; glass shattered, and there were more shrieks from the customers.

“Alright, nobody move,” one of the gunmen shouted.

“What happened to the lights?” his partner yelled back.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Just then, the lights came on and Starsky was standing in front of one of the gunmen. The gunman stepped back, startled. Starsky seized his opportunity and knocked the gun from his hand. It skittered across the floor. The lights went out again.

Sounds of bone connecting with bone punctuated the tension of the room. Grunts and groans were heard as a battle took place in the darkness. Somebody hit the floor. The lights blazed again.

This time, Starsky was no where to be seen.

The second gunman wheeled around looking for the man that had so deftly taken out his partner, his gun extended in front of him in an attempt at protecting himself.

The lights went out once more, followed by a gunshot.

“Whoever you are, come out, or I’m going to kill one of these people.” The bravado in his voice started to wobble a bit. “And stop playing with the lights!”

The lights came on. This time, Starsky was standing behind the gunman. Colby had also moved, catching on to the game quickly. He had managed to get the customers to huddle on the floor and was trying to keep them calm and out of harm’s way.

“Lookin’ for me?” Starsky tapped him on the shoulder.

The gunman wheeled around and Starsky ducked. He caught the gunman with three quick blows to the stomach before finishing him off with blow to the back of the head. The gunman didn’t have a chance. He sprawled on the floor beside his partner, out cold.

“Okay, Hutch.”

Hutch’s blonde head peered over the opposite end of the bar as he surveyed the damage Starsky had done to the assailants. He came around to where his friend stood, meeting Colby there as well. The three men looked down at the mess on the floor.

“Nice work,” Hutch commented, dropping his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

Starsky smiled, massaging his knuckles.

“Great idea, Starsk. Bogey would’ve been proud.”

Starsky laughed, his face splitting into a wide toothy grin. Colby, his face as white as a sheet, looked from one to the other.

“I’ll call the police.” Hutch circled around the bar.

An ironic thought occurred to Starsky. “Hey, we are the police.”

A silly look drifted across Hutch’s face. “Oh yeah.” He picked up the receiver. “I’ll call for back up then.”

As Hutchinson was dialing, Colby asked, “Hey Starsky? Bogey who?”

Within an hour, the police had arrived, arrested the two suspects, took statements, and escorted the prisoners down to the lock up. Most of the patrons had left, their nerves frayed. Only Starsky, Hutch, and Colby were left behind, along with four other people, one of which was Sweet Alice. The waitress opted to stay as well, and had been steadily serving the three men drinks on the house in thanks for their heroics. It wasn’t long before the three rookie cops were feeling no pain.

The men were seated at their booth, fresh beers in hand.

“I think we shoul’drink to a toast,” Colby slurred, lifting his glass.

“To a toast,” Hutch parroted, lifting his as well. “Another one? To what this time? We’ve drunk to jus’about everything already. That’s probly why I’m drunk.”

“To you guys,” Colby announced.

“To us guys? Again? Wha’for?”

“Gentlemen, you had your first arrest, and you aren’t even real cops yet.” He giggled. “I think that’s cause for a cellerbation.”

“No, that’s wrong,” Hutch wagged a long finger at him. “Stark–Starchky–Starsky, here, had the arrest,” he flopped his arm around Starsky’s shoulders. “I just helped. Right, pardner?”

Starsky, whose eyes were almost closed, smiled drunkenly. “I coun’na done it withou’chew, partner.”

“S’here’s to you!” Colby saluted them. “Husky and Starch!”

“Husky and Starch.” Hutch frowned, not quite sure what was wrong, but liking the sound of it anyway. “Iss’ gotta nice ring to it,” he thought out loud.

Starsky raised his glass. “Husky and Starch.” The three men drank the toast and plunked their glasses back down on the table. Seconds passed. They exchanged bleary-eyed glances, then Hutch and Colby watched as Starsky slowly slithered under the table.

His head throbbed, his body throbbed, hell, even the room throbbed.

And the phone was ringing.

Starsky stuck out his hand to locate the receiver. He felt his clock, a box of tissues, and the book he was reading. A little further and he located the phone. He pulled the receiver under the blankets that covered his head and stuck it as close to his ear as he could manage in his condition.

“Lo?”

“Starsky?”

“Mmmmm.”

“You sound funny.”

“Thas ‘cuz ‘m dead.”

Hutch chuckled in his ear. “I’m not surprised. You were in pretty bad shape last night.”

“I’m in pretty bad shape right now.” His tongue felt like it was wrapped in a wool sock. “Wha’ time is ‘zit?”

There was a pause before Hutch replied, “8:30.”

“In’a mornin’?”

“Of course in the morning. I was wondering if you wanted to go get some breakfast?”

Starsky let the question slide in order to ask one of his own. “Wait a second. How come you’re so bright eyed this mornin’? You had just as much to drink as I did las’ night.”

“Yes, this is true. Unlike you, I just happen to hold my beer pretty good.”

“Tha’s terrific.”

“So, what do you say?” Hutch’s voice was painfully cheery. “How about some steak and eggs? Or how about a western omelette? There’s this restaurant down the street from me that makes the best omelettes. They put in onions and cheese and chopped ham. Best in the city. What do you say?”

There was no response.

“Starsky?….. Starsky, are you there?”

Starsky was in the bathroom heaving the remnants of his night out in the toilet.

“Starsky?…. Hello?”

Starsky managed to pull himself together in time to meet Hutch for breakfast. He nursed a cup of coffee as Hutch downed an omelet, two pancakes, and a side of home fries. Starsky was hungry enough to eat, but he wasn’t taking any chances with his normally cast-iron stomach just yet. It was all he could do to keep the coffee down at the moment. He wasn’t about to embarrass himself by watching his breakfast come back up on him in the middle of a busy restaurant. Food would just have to wait.

Hutch pushed his empty plate away and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin.

“You know, Starsky, you don’t look quite so green now that you’ve had coffee.”

“Gee, thanks,” Starsky replied, still surly from his pounding headache. His eyes were half closed; the heel of his hand propped up his head. He would’ve put on his sunglasses if he’d remembered to bring them.

“Hey, I know just the thing that’ll cure your hangover.”

“I know one, too, a bullet between the eyes, but I was hoping for something a little less permanent.”

Hutch smiled. “No, really. Why don’t we go over to my place, and I’ll fix you up, then we can watch a ball game or a movie or something.”

The prospect of crashing in front of the television for an afternoon was too tempting for Starsky to resist. He knew if he went home, his Aunt Rosie would have him doing chores around the house–maybe even gardening– and he’d never survive an afternoon of that. Besides, he liked spending time with Hutch. The decision was an easy one.

Hutch paid the bill, and the two men climbed into their cars.

It took about 10 minutes for them to reach Hutch’s house.

“Hey, this is nice,” Starsky commented as he met Hutch at the front door of his home.

“Thanks.”

The little home was not really a traditional home, but a cottage, located on a canal. It wasn’t big by any stretch of the imagination, but Hutch loved it there. It was quiet, and it was close to the water, and it served his needs.

Inside, it was small, but it was ample room for one. The front door opened up into the main living space. To the left was an antique desk, a gift from his grandfather after his graduation from college, to the right, was a closet and the bathroom. The cottage consisted of mostly of one room, which acted as the living room, dining room, and bedroom. At the rear was a small kitchenette. A sofa stretched in front of a bank of windows on the far right that looked out over a well-tended greenhouse. Beside the greenhouse door was a piano. The decor was simple with no evidence of a woman’s touch. This was definitely the home of a bachelor.

Starsky wandered around as Hutch hastily picked up his discarded clothes from the night before and straightened up the bed. He left Starsky to examine a huge gnarled piece of driftwood that climbed the wall and stretched out over the living space, while he went into the kitchen to prepare his hangover cure for Starsky. By the time Starsky had wandered over to the sofa a few minutes later, Hutch had returned.

“Here, drink this.”

Starsky looked at the glass that Hutch held in front of his nose. “What is it?”

“It’ll help your hangover. Drink it.”

“I told you, my hangover doesn’t need any more help. It’s slowly killing me all by itself.”

“No really, drink it. It’ll help.”

“What is it?” Starsky took the glass and sniffed its contents. His stomach churned and he shoved the glass back at Hutch.

“It’s an old family cure.”

“Cure? Cure for what?”

“For what ails ya.” At least that’s what his grand dad used to say. Hutch pushed the glass back into Starsky’s hands. “Come on,” he urged him, “straight up.”

“It smells awful,” Starsky whined, wrinkling his nose.

“Good, then I made it right.”

“What’s in it?”

“Never mind what’s in it.”

“You’re awfully eager to get me to drink this–stuff.”

“Because it’ll make you feel better. Trust me.”

“I never trust anyone who says ‘trust me’.”

“Starsky, for crying out loud.” Hutch was getting impatient. “I trusted you the other night when you said ‘trust me’.” Starsky opened his mouth to respond but Hutch cut him off with an upraised finger. “Ah.”

Too miserable to argue the point any further, Starsky took the glass from Hutch’s hand. He looked inside at the suspicious contents, then back at his friend.

“Come on, Starsky. Just hold your nose and drink it.”

Still not entirely convinced, Starsky’s mouth twisted. “Hold my nose and drink it.” He sighed, it didn’t look like he had much choice in the matter.

He pinched his nose, closed his eyes, and chugalugged the contents of the glass.

Hutch watched him drain the glass, fingers still clamped on his nose.

“Hey, that wasn’t so bad,” he said, then he let go of his nose. “Ughh!” His face contorted, and his whole body shuddered as if that would help the contents go down easier. “That’s terrible.” He gave Hutch a wounded look.

Hutch plucked the glass from his friend’s hand and deposited it in the sink. “But it’ll work, I guarantee it.” He came back into the living room and flipped on the television. Starsky, who had taken up residence on the couch, was still trying to get the taste of the concoction out of his mouth when Hutch flopped beside him. “Now, relax and watch the ball game, and soon, you’ll feel like a new man.”

“I was kinda fond of the old one,” Starsky pouted.

They stretched out to watch the Oakland A’s and the Boston Red Sox do battle on the baseball field.

By the middle of the second inning, Starsky was asleep.

The smell of broiled steak and baked potatoes brought Starsky back to consciousness. Eyes still cemented shut, he inhaled the delicious aroma, pleased that his stomach didn’t lurch in protest. In fact, it was just the opposite. It was rumbling in anticipation. Not surprising really, he hadn’t eaten anything since his Aunt Rosie’s spaghetti dinner the night before. Then he and Hutch had gone out, stopped a robbery, and got drunk with John Colby. It was all coming back to him now. He was at Hutch’s place.

He could hear his friend knocking around in the kitchen: the sound of water running, vegetables being chopped, dishes rattling together, cutlery clanking. Hutch was obviously cooking supper and he selfishly hoped that he was invited. It smelled great.

He sighed, oddly content to just lie there and listen to the sounds of domesticity in the small apartment. He snuggled under the blanket–blanket? He didn’t remember having a blanket on him. And he didn’t remember lying down either. Hutch must have stretched him out and put the blanket on him after he fell asleep.

What a pal, Starsky thought to himself. Hutch had gone to the trouble of tucking him in and letting him sleep the afternoon away. He felt a little guilty of taking advantage of his hospitality, but not guilty enough to want to get up. He was happy to lie there and listen to sounds that reminded him of Sunday afternoons at home: his mom making dinner, his little brother, Nicky, playing with his toys near by, his dad–.

His happy thoughts screeched to a halt.

His dad.

The potatoes were ready and the steaks needed a few more minutes under the broiler, all that was left to do was to chop up a few more vegetables, throw the tomatoes in the salad, and wake Starsky.

The Hutchinson Hangover Cure did the trick, as he knew it would. Starsky conked out not long after he took it. I hope he’s hungry when he wakes up. There’s enough food here to feed an army. Even an army with a stomach like Starsky’s. Even though he hadn’t known him for very long, Hutch had noticed that Starsky’s appetite didn’t match Starsky’s body. Friday night, Starsky had plowed through his burger, fries, and onion rings. He went back for seconds–chilli–and topped the whole greasy meal off with the largest ice cream sundae Hutch had ever seen. And yet, Starsky was in great shape; leanly muscled, deceptively strong, agile, and quick. He could have been mistaken for a pro athlete if no one saw what he stuffed in that body. If it was fried–he ate it, if it was full of sugar–he ate it, if it had chocolate on it–he ate it. By all estimates, Starsky should’ve weighed in at about 250 pounds. But he didn’t.

If he hangs around me long enough, he’ll be eating better in no time, Hutch thought to himself as he chopped mushrooms to saute. His diet favoured fish, grains, vegetables, and fruit, supplemented with added vitamins. That didn’t mean that he avoided fast foods, he just made sure they weren’t dietary staples like in Starsky’s diet.

As Hutch prepared the meal, he sang softly to himself. The words of a Joni Mitchell song had been hovering in his mind all day long, so he finally gave them freedom. He loved to sing, and he’d been told by some that he had a pretty good voice, though he wasn’t entirely convinced of that, another “gift” from his father. It didn’t matter though. Even if he sounded terrible he would still sing. He found it relaxing, that and playing the guitar. It wasn’t unusual to find him curled up in his favourite spot–his greenhouse– his guitar in hand, singing for the sheer joy of it. But this afternoon, he wasn’t in his greenhouse and he didn’t have his guitar; he was in his kitchen, chopping vegetables, and he just felt like singing.

There was something calming in the voice that floated out of the kitchen to where Starsky lay cocooned on the couch. It was like suede: soft and smooth with a tinge of texture thrown in. And the sueded voice only enhanced the message in the song that was being sung, a story of the growth of a boy from childhood to manhood, captive on a carousel of time. Hutch sang the words as if he wrote them, meant them, lived them himself. They had that much conviction and maybe just a little bit of sadness. To Starsky, they had meaning, too, maybe too much meaning. The image of his father lying face down in the street unfurled itself in his mind and how he had never had the chance to finish his ride on the carousel of time. He opened his eyes and blinked at the wetness that had started forming there. What was the matter with him, he chided himself. Lying here crying like a baby. Hutch would laugh at him if he saw him now. And probably want to know what he was blubbering about, and then what would he tell him? What could he tell him? A little voice chimed in, “Tell him everything.”

The internal debate managed to pop his warm, fuzzy moment like a pin pricking a balloon. Starsky pulled the blanket off of himself and got to his feet, feeling a lot better physically than he had when he had fallen asleep. He pushed thoughts of his father aside as he always did when they got to be too much. This wasn’t the time or the place, he scolded himself. And besides, he was starved, and it looked like Hutch had gone to a lot of trouble making supper. Just have dinner with your friend, he told himself, and forget all that other stuff, I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear about it.

When that little voice chirped up with, “But what if he does?” he ignored it.

He stretched the kinks out of his shoulders and neck and wandered over to where Hutch was diligently working, accompanying himself in song.

Leaning up against a support beam, he watched his friend put the final touches on dinner. A linen tablecloth was spread out under two place settings of mismatched dishes. Two candles set in holders fashioned from pottery stood guard beside a small centre piece of flowers. Hutch had certainly gone to a lot of trouble in the decorating department Starsky decided. His buddy was full of surprises: dinner, setting the table, and…. a long, floral apron? Starsky zoomed in on the fabric wrapped around Hutch’s trim waist. Yup, Hutch was wearing a long, floral apron.

“You sing real nice.” He chuckled when Hutch started, nicking his finger with a paring knife instead of the radish he was working on.

“Oh, hi.” Hutch stuck his finger in his mouth to quell the bleeding. “I didn’t hear you get up.” He smiled. “How are you feeling? Hungry I hope?”

“Starved.” He smiled back, pointedly looking him over from head to toe. “Whatever was in that glass you gave me worked.”

“I told you it would.” He looked at the expression on Starsky’s face then down at the apron that had once belonged to his ex-wife. “Uh, it used to be Vanessa’s.”

“Sure,” the dark haired man agreed, eyebrow raised, nodding indulgently.

He looked down at his apron again, seeing it through Starsky’s eyes, and laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of him in the flowered garment. “Sit down, will ya?”

Laughing, Starsky pulled out a chair and sat down while Hutch served up dinner. Between the two of them, they polished off most of the food Hutch had prepared. Starsky’s cast iron stomach was back in top form, Hutch noted as he watched with amazement the quantity of food his friend consumed. He wasn’t going to have to worry about leftovers, that was for sure. But Starsky seemed to be enjoying the meal and for some reason, that pleased Hutch. Dessert disappeared just as fast as dinner did. The food acted as a backdrop to various topics of conversation:

“Hutch, cops don’t drive Edsels….”

“Starsk, All in the Family is a going to be a classic…..”

“Chess is a sissy’s game…..”

“Pizza and root beer for breakfast? Starsky, that’s terrible….”

When the dishes were done and put away, Hutch led Starsky on a tour of his pride and joy: his greenhouse located at the far right side of the cottage. He introduced Starsky to all his plants, not noticing Starsky’s raised eyebrow as he introduced the greenery by name.

After the tour, they wandered outside, drawn to the edge of the canal. They stood shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence, drinking in the serenity of the Sunday evening sunset.

Hutch decided it had been a good day. He really enjoyed Starsky’s company and hoped that his friend felt the same way. He felt like he had found a kindred spirit in Starsky, like they were old souls that had known each other for a long time. Maybe that’s why I feel so comfortable around him, he thought, stealing a gaze at the man in question.

At the same time, Starsky turned to look at Hutch. Blue eyes met blue eyes. No words were necessary.

“Thanks for dinner, buddy.”

“Don’t mention it. It’s been quite a weekend, huh?”

“Wanna do it again some time?”

Hutch gave Starsky a wide toothy grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and clasped him on the shoulder. “No armed hold up guys though, okay?”

Starsky returned it. “You got it.”

Hutch strolled along side the canal and Starsky fell into step beside him. They had only gotten a few yards from Hutch’s place when curiosity struck the blonde man.

“So, what made you decide to become a cop?”

“I dunno.” Starsky stared straight ahead as if he could find the answer hidden on the horizon. “Lots of things, I guess.”

Remembering the look that passed between Starsky and his aunt the other night, Hutch guessed, “Your dad?”

“Yeah, I suppose he was one of the major reasons.”

“What does he think about your wanting to become a cop? He must be pretty proud that you decided to follow in his footsteps?”

When Starsky didn’t answer, Hutch wondered if he’d heard the question. He glanced over at him and noticed that the relaxed expression had become strained as Starsky tipped his head back to look up at the twilight sky.

“Starsk?”

Starsky stopped walking and turned towards the canal. He inhaled deeply, the tangy smell of salt water filling his lungs. Hutch had stopped a few feet away from him, but said nothing, a look of concern puckering his forehead. When Starsky finally spoke, Hutch hoped he had misunderstood him.

“I dunno, he’s dead.”

The words were flat, but Hutch could hear the pain in them. What could he say to that? “I’m sorry, I didn’t know” seemed so trite, but what else could he say?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Starsky slid him a sidelong glance, a sad, little half smile on his lips. “S’okay, it happened a long time ago.” He shrugged.

Hutch waited. He sensed that Starsky had more to say, but he let him make up his mind. Their friendship was still very new, and there were just some things you didn’t share with people you hardly knew. But then again, isn’t that exactly what he had done two nights ago? He’d poured out his whole life story to this man. He felt an unspoken trust with Starsky. He couldn’t explain why or how, but he felt a confidence with him that he hadn’t felt before with anyone else. He wondered if Starsky felt the same? Did he have enough confidence in him to trust him with the details of his father’s death? If he didn’t, Hutch decided, he would be okay with that. But he felt like he owed Starsky something. Starsky, without knowing it, had helped him see his life clearly for the first time. He hoped, somehow, he could return the favour.

So, he waited.

Starsky resumed meandering along the water’s edge. Hutch trailed quietly behind him. Neither had spoken since Hutch had expressed his condolences at the death of his father. He felt like he owed Hutch some sort of explanation, but did he really want to tell him about his dad?

The details of his father’s shooting had been kept neatly locked away in his heart. He hadn’t talked about it with anyone. His family tried–his mom, his aunt and uncle, and then, even John Blaine–but Starsky kept it all inside. And now, for some reason, he toyed with the idea of sharing his pain with a guy he had known for three days–three days.

Tell him.

There was that voice again.

He had felt an instant connection to Hutch. A connection very strong and powerful and the more he got to know his new friend, the stronger the invisible bond between them grew. He’d had friends before, but the subject of his father was always off limits. But with Hutch, it was different. He sensed a brotherhood in the blonde man, like he’d found a missing piece of himself, that if he told him what he had locked inside all these years, it would still be safe.

“He was shot and killed when I was 13.” He blurted out the words without realizing it. His heart was pounding so loudly, he barely heard Hutch’s sharply indrawn breath.

Hutch came and stood beside him, still silent. He dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

Funny how one small gesture could be so powerful? Tears sprang to Starsky’s eyes, and he tried to blink them away.

Hutch watched the battle Starsky was waging with his emotions. His friend’s pain was written all over his face. It was obviously a difficult thing for him to deal with, but he didn’t know Starsky that well. He didn’t know what he could do to help. It was pure instinct that made him reach out and pull Starsky into what he hoped was a comforting embrace. Starsky hesitated a split second before returning the pressure. Hutch didn’t know if he was doing the right thing as he held onto Starsky, but he didn’t let go. Starsky’s arms crushed around him as he clung to him, silently crying.

It might have been minutes; it might have been hours that they stood there. Hutch knew the worst was over when Starsky’s shoulders stopped shaking and his breathing returned to normal. He pulled away slightly, and Hutch let him go.

Hutch stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and gazed over at the homes located on the other side of the canal, letting Starsky have all the time he needed to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what was going to come next, but whatever it was, he was going to be there.

Starsky stared into the water and came to a decision.

 

“It was a Saturday. He was on his way home for lunch–we lived pretty close to the station so he usually walked. I went down to the corner to meet him, so I could walk back home with him. I was going to ask him if I could buy a new bike with the money I had made delivering papers. I hung around there for about 10 minutes before I saw him coming up the street. I waved at him and he waved back.” Starsky stopped speaking and Hutch waited, emotion clogging his own throat. Starsky had grown very still and his voice got husky. “And that’s when it happened. This black car drove by, there were three shots. He took them in the back. He just fell to his knees and then to the ground. He had this shocked look on his face. And that was it. The car took off, and I ran over to him. I can remember just screaming and screaming, but there wasn’t anything I could do, he was dead.” The last three words were said quietly, the voice of a child.

Starsky’s chin dropped to his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut. Fresh tears rolled out and down his already wet cheeks. He scrubbed his hand across his face and sniffled, embarrassed at completely falling apart in front of Hutch, but he couldn’t help himself. Just like he couldn’t stop himself from telling Hutch what had happened all those years ago. It was time and, for some reason, Hutch just seemed the right person to tell. He only hoped that his instincts hadn’t let him down. But when he stole a glance into Hutch’s eyes, as vivid and blue as the morning sky, and saw them pooled with tears as well, he almost started to cry all over again.

He tried for a smile and it came out a little wobbly and a little watery, but he had to lighten the mood somehow, if not for himself, then for Hutch–he looked as miserable as Starsky felt. He had dumped a lot on his friend’s shoulders just now. Was it too much? Did his weak emotional episode just drive Hutch and his friendship away? He wanted to say something but didn’t quite know what, so he said nothing.

Hutch had listened to Starsky’s words and saw the scene play out in his mind. His heart broke at what his friend had had to endure, watching his father die. It had to have been difficult for Starsky to tell him what he just did. And he wasn’t about to let him down. If Starsky ever needed a friend it was now. He stood behind him and dropped his hands on Starsky’s tense shoulders.

“Ah, Starsk.”

Starsky inhaled and held it, trying to get his breathing back to an even keel. He felt exhausted and empty. He sighed.

“I, uh, I’m sorry for–”

Hutch stopped his apology. “Starsk, there’s no need to be sorry.” The muscles under Hutch’s hands were still bunched up. He rubbed the shoulders trying to get Starsky to relax a little. “No one should have had to go through that experience, no one, especially a 13-year-old boy.”

Hutch’s words were balm to his frayed soul. It felt so good to let it out, to let it go, to share the burden with someone else. Why had he held on to the pain for so long? Why did he still have this feeling of guilt?

He nodded. “I just keep wondering if– I mean, I should’ve said something. I should’ve done something! I just stood there and watched him die.” Emotion threatened to drag him down again but he fought it, his bobbing Adam’s apple betraying his outwardly calm stance. The hands on his shoulders dropped off, and suddenly, Hutch appeared in front of him, concern etched in his face.

“Starsk,” Hutch stared into his eyes, willing him to look at him. He did. “There was nothing you could do. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself.” He could see by the look in his friend’s eyes that he’d hit on the real problem–Starsky blamed himself for his father’s death. “You were 13 years old. It happened so fast.” Tears started pooling in the violet-blue eyes again, and Starsky turned away self-consciously. Hutch’s hands gripped his upper arms. “Starsk, you’ve got to let it go. It’s not going to bring him back.”

“I know that!” Starsky snapped, swiping his eyes once more and trying to pull himself together before he dissolved in an emotional puddle. “I know that. I just feel like I should’ve done something.” He pulled away from Hutch’s grasp.

“You have done something. You’re doing it right now. You’re gonna be a cop. You’re gonna make sure something like that doesn’t happen to another 13 year old kid.” Starsky stared out over the water. “Starsky, your dad was a cop. Getting shot at, it’s part of the job, you know that. He knew that. He lived with that everyday. It’s what made him the man he was. It’s the same thing that makes you the man you are. You’re gonna put your life on the line everyday you walk out on the street. But that’s the choice you made. The same one he did.”

Everything Hutch said was true and Starsky knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier to let go of the guilt and the feeling of helplessness he’d clung to all these years.

Starsky swallowed the lump that was forming again in his throat. “He didn’t even have a chance, Hutch.”

“I know, buddy. But there’s nothing you can do or say that’s gonna change what happened.”

“I know that.”

“The only thing you can do is go on with your life.”

Starsky shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He expelled another long weary sigh that felt like it came from the souls of his feet. “My dad was born to be a cop. He loved it so much. He thought he could make a difference.”

“He did make a difference,” Hutch said quietly, “to you, and everyone he ever came in contact with. He’s still making a difference, Starsk. It’s because of him you want to become a cop.” Starsky looked at him, and Hutch could almost see him thinking through what he’d just said. “I think your father would be damn proud of you.”

A little half smile eased Starsky’s features a bit.

“Hey, you okay?”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah.” His father had been so predominant in his thoughts lately and, by talking about him, it made the memories more poignant. He needed time to think, to sort through all the things running through his head, all the things that Hutch said. And he had to do that alone. He hoped Hutch would understand.

“Hey, listen, I, uh, think I’m gonna take off, ‘kay?” Starsky felt like he’d just woken up from a long nap. Maybe he had.

Hutch was caught a little off guard by the sudden abruptness. He’d expected Starsky to say something but not that. “Yeah, sure,” he said after skipping a beat.

Starsky was already walking away. He had the driver’s door to the Mustang open and was climbing under the wheel when Hutch caught up to him.

“Hey, Starsk?”

The engine fired and Starsky looked at him expectantly. He didn’t know what to say except, “See you tomorrow?”

His friend nodded then gunned out of the driveway and down the street.

It was an hour later and Hutch was settling down with a beer when a thought occurred to him. He reached over and picked up the phone, dialing a number he had recently committed to memory. It was answered on the second ring.

“Mrs. Starsky? This is Ken Hutchinson, David’s friend…… Okay–Rosie, yes, I’m fine, thank you…… I will, I promise……. I don’t suppose David is home yet, is he?….. No, he’s not here, he left about an hour ago……. No, nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to make sure he got home okay……. I’m sure he’s just taking the long way home…… Okay, thanks. Goodnight–Um Rosie? He told me about his father…..”

He wondered why it seemed important to tell her that as he hung up the phone. He had been a little worried about Starsky when he left. The conversation between them hadn’t seemed complete, but Starsky seemed to have needed his space so he didn’t try to stop him. He just had to wait and see.

As he sat there, another thought occurred to him. He reached over and picked up the phone again, dialing a number that was very familiar to him. This time, it was answered on the third ring.

“Hi, Mom…… It’s good to hear your voice, too………. No, no, I’m fine……… Yes, it’s going very well……….”

It was just after 1:00 a.m. when Starsky tried to sneak in the back door of the little house he shared with his aunt and uncle. Quietly, he padded down the hallway to the staircase, but a light shining from the living room halted him in his tracks. He peered around the corner.

“Aunt Rosie?”

She jumped. “David? You’re home.” She had been dozing and hadn’t heard him come in.

“It’s one in the mornin’, what are you still doing up?”

She was sitting in her favourite chair–a worn gold recliner–with her slippered feet propped up on the footstool and a book spread out on her lap.

She blinked and tried to stifle a little yawn. “I was just reading my book.”

“Aunt Rosie, you’re in bed by 10:15 every night, book or no book.” He came over and squatted down beside her chair and looked at her from under arched eyebrows. “You stopped waiting up for me when I turned 18. Is everything okay?”

She looked into her nephew’s handsome face, searching for something. She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she threaded her fingers into his thick curls, pulled him close, and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Everything is just fine, bambino. Don’t you worry.” She closed her book and tucked it in beside the cushion of her chair and switched off the light. He helped her to her feet. She slipped her arm around his waist, his dropped naturally around her shoulders. They headed for the staircase. “Did you have a good time today with your friend?”

He wasn’t sure how to answer her. Yeah, he did, after he woke up from his impromptu nap and before he fell apart in front of Hutch.

“Yeah, we had a good time. Hutch isn’t exactly my idea of the perfect date, but….” he chuckled, letting the thought hang.

“Maybe not, but he won’t break your heart, either,” she responded sagely.

“I don’t know, Aunt Rosie,” he said teasing her. “You know I’m a sucker for tall, beautiful blondes.”

“Ah, yes, he is very handsome. That smile, and those eyes.”

He pretended to be shocked. “Aunt Rosie!” He heard her laugh. “Don’t let Uncle Al hear you talking like that.”

“Don’t you worry about your Uncle Al. He will always be mi amore. But that does not mean I have no eyes. That Ken, he has the face of an angel.”

“It’s all that blonde hair.”

They had almost reached the landing, she was two steps above him when she turned to face him, staring at him like she had moments before in the living room. “He is light, you are dark. He will be a good friend for you, David. Trust in him.”

He didn’t say anything in response. He was trying to figure out why things got so serious all of a sudden. And what was with the cryptic comment about Hutch? It brought a tiny frown to his forehead. But before he could question her, she kissed him on the cheek, wished him goodnight, and disappeared into her bedroom. The conversation was over, and he was supposed to figure out what it meant. How was he supposed to do that when he had no idea what she was talking about?

Minutes later, he climbed into bed, exhausted, but still wide-awake. He had been on an emotional roller coaster most of the night, and he was tired of thinking. After he’d left Hutch’s place, he drove around trying to come to terms with all the things swirling around in his head. He ended up down at the ocean, alone with the surf and the sand, the stars and the moon, thinking. Talking to Hutch about his father had been hard, but he was glad he did. Everything his friend had said made perfect sense even though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words. His family had said the same thing to him, over and over again, but back then, it didn’t help ease the sense of helplessness he had. They were just trying to help, but the kind words only reopened bitter wounds. Finally, he wouldn’t even listen to anyone anymore, and all the well-meaning advice stopped coming. But, tonight, what ever it was that made him tell Hutch the details of his father’s death was giving him the chance to look at the tragedy with new eyes. Was it because he was older now? Maybe it was because he had chosen the same path his father had–becoming a cop. Maybe it was because he was finally able to do something, like Hutch said. You’re gonna make sure something like that doesn’t happen to another 13 year old kid. Maybe it was because Hutch seemed to know exactly what he needed to hear tonight. Whatever it was, he was grateful. He felt at peace, calm after the storm. It was time to stop blaming that 13-year-old kid for being a 13-year-old kid. I think your father would be damn proud of you.

“Are you, dad?” He asked the ceiling. “Are you proud of me?”

From across the hall, a gentle rattling snore echoed in the darkness, responding to his whispered question. Uncle Al. Starsky laughed to himself, “Yeah, me too.” He rolled over and went to sleep.

It was back to business as usual Monday morning for Starsky, Hutchinson, and Colby except for one thing–news of their Saturday night heroics had spread through the academy like an unattended fire, turning them into instant celebrities amongst their fellow rookies. They were teased, ribbed, and congratulated by everyone, even people they didn’t know. The three handled the attention quite well, and they earned the moniker The Three Corsicans even though they had no idea what the significance of the name meant.

Starsky, in particular, took great delight in his newfound celebrity status, relating details of the incident to anyone who asked. Hutch smiled like an indulgent parent at Starsky’s enthusiastic retelling of the arrest. Even though he lost count of the number of times Starsky explained it, he noticed that the facts always remained the same, no embellishments or deviation from what really happened. Some guys would’ve taken advantage of the situation, but not Starsky. And in Hutch’s eyes, that meant something.

There was no mention of the conversation of the night before. Starsky acted as if it had never happened and Hutch didn’t want to prod, figuring his friend would bring it up if and when he was ready. But Starsky seemed to be okay, the bounce was still in his step and the familiar grin still flashed. That encouraged Hutch, but he still wasn’t going to push.

That afternoon after classes, Starsky, Hutch, and Colby were, embroiled in a pick up game of basketball with three other rookies. Fighting for supremacy of the brown ball was their focus, and they didn’t even notice the two men standing in the doorway watching them. Instead, they carried on like carefree children, laughing and yelling and bending the rules to suit their needs.

Captain Harold Dobey was a large, heavy, black man with a permanent scowl etched on his face. He had the reputation for having a short temper and a long appetite, but he was also one of the best commanding officers on the Bay City force. He had been around for a lot of years, starting out at the bottom of the ladder and working his way steadily up through the ranks. The captain’s title fit him perfectly, as did the responsibility. Dobey’s homicide unit was highly regarded. Every couple of months, he would skillfully cull the most promising rookies on the force very much like a scout would recruit for a professional sports team. He recognized the makings of a good cop. He had worked with plenty over the years. And he recognized talent, and instinctively, he knew he was looking at it in front of him.

Beside him was Lieutenant Mike Ferguson, or “Iron Mike”, as he was known around the precinct. At 6 foot, 6 inches, Iron Mike was an imposing figure to both his men and the criminals he pursued. Tough as nails, he demanded the best from his officers and made sure he got it. He and Dobey went back many years and were close friends. They’d worked the streets together as officers and took the lieutenant’s exam together. They respected each other, but they weren’t above a little friendly rivalry.

The two men watched the match.

“Harold, do you remember ever having that much energy?”

The corner of Dobey’s mouth lifted. “When I was 12, maybe.”

“No kidding.”

They fell silent.

“It seems to me that there’s a new breed of cop coming up. It wasn’t like this in our early days, was it?”

Dobey nodded. “That’s right. They don’t make’m like us anymore.”

Once again, silence.

“So that’s Starsky and Hutchinson, huh?”

“Mm-huh,” Dobey muttered.

“You heard about their bust Saturday night?” he nodded at the two rookies who had just sunk another basket and were performing an outlandish victory dance to celebrate before surrendering the ball.

“Who hasn’t? The chief’s already been here to take a look.”

“What do you think?”

“I’m not sure.” It was a little lie. He was very impressed with the two rookies and intended to have them assigned to his unit. But that was the last thing Mike Ferguson needed to know.

“Apparently, they handled themselves well. Style was a little unorthodox.” Ferguson snorted. “Blind Man’s Bluff?”

“Cops playing children’s games.” Dobey chuckled.

“Really,” Ferguson agreed, “next it’ll be Ring Around the Rosie.”

The action switched sides again, the sound of whoops and yelling punctuated by the bouncing ball. Starsky executed a give and take with Hutchinson and took great delight in setting up Hutchinson’s basket.

Ferguson evidently had seen enough. “Well, I better get back to work.” He leaned over to Dobey. “By the way, Harold. When Hutchinson graduates, he’s mine. I’ll let you have Starsky.” He winked at his old friend and left.

Dobey grimaced, watching Ferguson’s retreating back out of the corner of his eye. Well, one out of two wasn’t bad.

Hutch leaned back and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He glanced at his watch — 2:25 a.m. He and Starsky had been studying for hours, though he didn’t remember it being that late when he checked his watch a little while ago. Could he have dozed off while he was studying?

Starsky sat opposite him at the table, positioned as usual with his chin buried in his palm. He was hunched over his Police Procedural textbook, preparing for their first test tomorrow. He must have been lost in concentration because he was very still and very quiet.

Hutch dug the sleep out of his eyes and stretched his taught muscles.

“I must have dozed off,” he said. Starsky didn’t respond. “Starsk?” Still nothing. He reached across and nudged his friend’s elbow. “Starsk?”

Starsky jumped, blinking sleepily. “Whassamatter?”

Hutch smiled. “It’s almost 2:30. We must have fallen asleep.”

Starsky yawned and rubbed his eyes. Sleep made his eyes heavy, and he would’ve liked nothing more than to curl up and go back to sleep even if it was on Hutch’s kitchen table.

He scratched his head, causing his curls to spring back to attention. “Man, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Must be the subject matter,” Hutch reminded him, shutting his book. “Crash investigation.”

Starsky snickered before belting out another jaw cracking yawn. He had trouble keeping his eyes open.

Following Starsky’s lead, Hutch yawned, too. “Listen. Why don’t you crash here tonight? You don’t look like you’re in any shape to drive home.”

Starsky’s eyes were already drooping shut. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

With that decided, Hutch pulled a blanket and a pillow out of the closet, while Starsky used the bathroom. When he returned minutes later, Hutch handed him a pair of sweatpants to wear. He slipped them on while Hutch took his turn washing up.

Both men were asleep as soon as their heads hit their pillows.

The next morning, Hutch was dreaming, and what a dream it was. He and a certain lovely lady were on a beach in Maui, just the two of them, in the sun and the surf and the sand. Was it a coincidence that the lovely lady resembled his favourite waitress at the Cave? Probably not. But she definitely did not look waitressy to him at the moment. Wearing a barely there bikini and a wide inviting smile, she looked like his fantasy girl come to life. And he was hoping the fantasy was just beginning. And things were progressing nicely as they walked hand in hand, the sea tickling their feet, their toes digging into the soft white sand.

He rolled over and hugged his pillow, imagining her so soft in his arms. He plucked a tropical flower from a nearby bush and caressed its velvety petals with his fingers. It reminded him of her, her skin, her lips, her beautiful mane of blonde hair. He turned back to her, his fantasy girl, to tuck the bloom into her hair, and as he did the beautiful blonde hair faded, and in it’s place were springy curls of brown, haloed around violet-blue eyes and a wide toothy grin. His fantasy girl was gone, only to be replaced by–Starsky?

The image was enough to wake him up.

He shook his head and blinked, hoping to recapture the lovely lady in Maui before Starsky had shown up. She was gone. Damn.

Looking across the room, he could see Starsky sprawled on the couch, tangled up in the blanket, still asleep. He glanced at his alarm clock–8:40 a.m–and groaned. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all. The temptation to catch a few more minutes of sleep before he had to get up to go to work was more than his willpower could handle. Besides, he needed all the sleep he could get. He and Starsky were having their first test today at 9:00 a.m. He snuggled under his blankets and closed his eyes.

Their first test. That’s what the late night study session was for. He was pretty sure he had it nailed but Starsky wasn’t and asked for Hutch’s help in studying. One pizza and a six-pack of beer later, they had both fallen asleep on the table. But it was worth it if it got Starsky a passing grade on this test. Starsky was a pretty smart guy even though he did his best to hide it behind the tough guy walk and the streetwise talk. But Hutch knew he’d be okay. He understood the subject matter as well as Hutch did. All he needed was a little confidence.

Confidence? He never thought he’d ever say that about Starsky. There was no one more sure of himself than his buddy. Except when it came to academic things. Starsky seemed to think that because Hutch had gone the whole nine yards when it came to education, it made Hutch smarter than him, which was the furthest thing from the truth in Hutch’s opinion. Starsky just needed to prove himself with this test, prove to himself that he could do it. And that’s why he stayed up to all hours of the night last night to help him. So he was paying for it now. But as long as Starsky passed that test this morning everything would be okay.

The test.

Hutch catapulted upright in bed. He grabbed the little clock and hoped he was still dreaming. 8:45? It can’t be.

He peeled off the covers and hit the floor in one fluid movement.

“Starsk.” He shook his friend’s bare shoulder. “Starsk. Wake up!”

Starsky moaned. “What?” He flopped over onto his back, irritated at being roused.

Hutch had already stumbled back to where he’d left his clothes in a pile beside the bed. “It’s 8:45. We have a test in 15 minutes.” He grabbed his pants and hastily pulled them on.

“WHAT?” It had taken a moment to sink in, but when it did, the blanket flew off Starsky and sailed over the back of the couch as he jumped to his feet.

“I said–”

“I heard ya.” He searched frantically, trying to remember where he’d left his clothes. 15 minutes? A wide-eyed look at his watch confirmed it. “My pants. Where are my pants?”

“How should I know?” Hutch retorted yanking on a violet coloured sweater over sleep tousled hair.

“Help me find my pants!”

“Check behind the sofa.”

Starsky kneeled on the sofa and leaned over the back, throwing off the blanket that concealed his clothes. He stripped off the sweatpants and was dressed in record time.

They grabbed their books and headed for the door.

“Come on, we’ll take my car,” Starsky called over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with my car?”

“Hutch, I don’t have time to tell you what’s wrong with your car. Besides, I know a shortcut.”

They made the fifteen minute trip in eight, and Hutch was pretty sure his fingers had left a permanent indentation in the dashboard. He wasn’t used to seeing the city go by at that speed, though Starsky didn’t seem to have a problem handling the vehicle through all it’s twists and turns through traffic. They left rubber at a few intersections and were cursed at a few more but Starsky ignored it all as he confidently maneuvered the car with hands that lightly gripped the wheel. Starsky was quite the driver, Hutch noted, as he tore his gaze from the roller coaster ride to glance at his watch again.

They pulled up outside the academy building accompanied by a cloud of dust and a squeal of tires and high tailed it to the gymnasium, where the test was to take place.

When Hutch finally put down his pen a little over two hours later, he took his first real breath of the day. During the hair raising drive over, anxiety had him checking his watch every minute or so until he and Starsky galloped into the gymnasium, wild eyed and out of breath and right in time. Once the doors were closed, no one was allowed in or out and they had made it just under the wire. After that, the test had been a breeze. They had been allotted three hours and he was done in two. Now he just had to sit and wait for the rest of the rookies to catch up.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs under the table. With fingers laced across his test paper, he glanced across the gymnasium to where Starsky was still busy working on his paper. The dark head was bent, the fingers of his right hand buried in the mass of his hair, the left hand scribbling furiously across the page. Hutch watched him work and hoped his buddy was doing as well on the test as he knew he had just done.

Starsky must have sensed something because at that moment, he looked up and met Hutch’s gaze. He grinned and gave him the thumb’s up signal. Hutch returned it, and Starsky went back to work.

With 15 minutes left, those finished the test were allowed to leave. Hutch stood just outside the door, waiting for Starsky. He had no idea where Colby was. He hadn’t been able to spot him amongst the 60 bent heads, but he figured he was in there somewhere.

Speak of the devil. There was Colby.

“Hey, Hutch.” Starsky’s nickname for him had caught on, Hutch thought to himself, inordinately pleased. Now even Colby was calling him Hutch.

“Hey, John,” he greeted him warmly. “How did you do?”

“What do you mean? It was a piece of cake,” Colby replied confidently. “What about you?”

“I was finished in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Colby stared at him. “What are you trying to do, make the rest of us look bad?”

Hutch smiled self-consciously. “Well you know what they say? If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

“Yeah, but two hours, man, did you cheat or something?”

Hutch chuckled. “No, Starsk and I were up till all hours of the night studying.”

“Burning a little midnight oil, huh?” He looked around. “Speaking of Starsky, where is he?”

As if Colby’s question conjured him up, Starsky barreled through a group of men exiting the gym, earning him more than a couple of rude remarks from the guys he almost ran down.

Hutch saw him skid to a halt just outside the door, his head swiveling, looking for someone.

“Hey, Starsk.”

Recognizing Hutch’s voice, Starsky located him like radar and immediately launched himself at his blonde friend. To say that Starsky was excited was a major understatement. He jumped into Hutch’s arms with the enthusiasm of a kid who had just hit a game winning home run. His whoops and hollers were as good as any trophy. Hutch caught him in mid-flight, more in self defense than anything else, as Starsky’s leap propelled them both into the wall.

The outburst only drew annoyed glances from other rookies who were still milling around outside the gym, veteran officers on their way to attend their own retraining sessions, and academy personnel trying to put in the balance of their eight hour day. Starsky ignored them all. His feet might have been planted on the floor, but right now, he was on cloud nine, and he didn’t care who knew about it.

“Hutch, Hutch, I did it, man, I did it. I aced it.” Starsky’s face was split by an ear to ear grin. He practically vibrated with pent up energy. He latched onto Hutch again and Hutch hugged him back, laughing at his friend’s child-like enthusiasm.

“Starsk, that’s great! I knew you could do it,” he exclaimed, thumping him on the back. He was almost as happy for Starsky as Starsky was for himself. He couldn’t stop grinning either.

“I was a little worried at first but then I remembered all that stuff we worked on last night, and it just came to me like that.” He snapped his fingers.

He was referring to the study tricks Hutch had showed him the night before. Last night he wasn’t sure if Starsky had really understood what he was trying to teach him, and maybe at first he didn’t. Actually, Starsky’s blank look was a pretty good indicator that Hutch’s point had sailed right past him. So he tried something else, a different tactic when he realized that Starsky just had a different way of grasping things. After that, the tutoring session had been a breeze. Not only that, Starsky even managed to teach him a thing or two.

Starsky stepped back and sobered momentarily. “Thanks, buddy.” He clasped Hutch’s shoulder, and Hutch read more in the simple movement than if he had been given a lifetime supply of Hallmark cards.

He returned the gesture. Forget it, pal. Glad I could help.

Starsky noticed Colby for the first time.

“Hey, Colby,” he greeted the younger man with reserve. Starsky still wasn’t sure what to think about Colby even though they had gotten to know each other a little better since the whole bar shooting episode last weekend. He liked the kid, he really did, but there was just something that was off, something that he couldn’t quite give a definition. But like Hutch said, maybe that’s just the way he was. And if that were the case, he’d just have to accept it.

“Hey, Starsky,” Colby greeted him with an outstretched hand. He accepted it and the pat on the back that came with it. “Good job on that test!”

He took the compliment at face value. Right now, he was too excited to go looking for ulterior motives, especially where there might not be any. Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe he should just leave it alone.

“Thanks Colby,” he smiled. Then, to both men, “Hey! What d’y’say we go celebrate or something? Grab some lunch, shoot some pool, have a few beers?” He looked expectantly from Hutch to Colby then back to Hutch again. “Huh?”

Hutch decided that if Starsky had been a dog, he couldn’t have mastered the hopeful puppy look any better. All his buddy was missing was floppy ears and a wagging tail. And it wasn’t exactly the first time he’d seen it either. He’d seen it in use on Rosie, Captain Duncan at the academy, and on three fellow rookies. But this was the first time Starsky turned the effect on him. He chuckled as he found it way too easy to cave into Starsky’s exuberance. Who could say ‘No’ to that face? “Yeah, why not? We’ve got the rest of the afternoon off. What do you say, John?”

“Listen, guys, I would really like to, but I’ve got other plans this afternoon. What d’ya say we take a rain cheque, okay?”

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances and shrugged.

“Okay, John, I guess we’ll see you later, then.”

With a wink and a slap to Hutch’s shoulder, he disappeared around the corner. Hutch turned to Starsky.

“Well, it looks like it’s just you and me, pal.”

Hutch seemed a bit disappointed, but oddly, Starsky wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell Hutch that. Instead….

“Hey, I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go see a movie, huh?” Once again, there were the floppy ears and wagging tail.

Hutch’s eyebrows arched. “You want to celebrate by going to see a movie?”

“Yeah, when was the last time you went to a matinee?” Starsky must have intended it to be a rhetorical question because he didn’t even give Hutch a chance to respond. “The Rively Theatre over on Carson is playing classic monster movies all weekend. There’s a great one with Lorne Chaney,” he consulted his watch, “starts at 2:00.”

“That’s Lon.”

“What’s Lon?”

“His name.”

“Who’s name?”

“Lon Chaney–it’s Lon, not Lorne,” Hutch explained.

“No, it isn’t, it’s Lorne.”

Hutch drew in a frustrated breath. “No, it’s Lon.”

“Lorne.”

“Lon.”

“Lorne.”

“Lon.”

“Lorne.”

“Starsky!”

Though chastised by the sudden hostility in Hutch’s voice and the glare that accompanied it, Starsky still tried to get the last word. “Lorne.” He could almost hear Hutch’s teeth grinding together, so before his buddy needed to be fitted for dentures, he compromised. “Lon, Lorne, what difference does it make? If we leave now, we can still catch the movie. Wha’d’ya say?”

“Starsky, I don’t wan–”

“Ah, come on, Hutch.”

Out came the floppy-eared, tail-wagging look, and Hutch sighed in defeat. How does he do it, he wondered to himself as Starsky’s face-splitting grin indicated he knew he’d gotten his way. The only thing Hutch could think about as they walked side by side to the car was if that look of Starsky’s could make his resolve crumble that easily, what the hell did it do to women?

Remember the redhead at orientation? he reminded himself.

Never mind.

Hutch was relieved to learn that the Lon Chaney feature and the monster movie marathon had actually taken place the weekend before much to Starsky’s chagrin. But Starsky’s disappointment was short-lived when he learned that the movie that was being shown was Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a film that had recently won several Academy awards. He confessed to Hutch that he loved Westerns almost as much as he loved horror movies and that this was one movie he’d wanted to see for a while. Hutch, for his part, was just grateful that he didn’t have to sit through hours of vintage horror movies, so compromising with a film that he also secretly wanted to see was not too difficult a chore.

It was late in the afternoon when they emerged from the Rively Theatre. Starsky, like the overgrown kid he could be, was still hyped on the film. It seemed Butch and Sundance had made quite an impression on him. It was all he could talk about, and Hutch finally gave up trying to interject a word in as they piled into the car and drove to The Cave to grab a bite to eat. For his part, Hutch decided that he had enjoyed himself more than he’d expected he would, and he smiled indulgently at Starsky’s ceaseless chatter about the movie. It must have been fate when the movie’s theme song, Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, started playing on the car radio. It was the only thing that managed to get Starsky to shut up–but not for long. With the song playing in the background, he launched into an enthusiastic sing along which was a little loud and a little off key, but despite that, it prompted Hutch to want to join in, and it wasn’t long before his smooth tenor was singing along as loudly as Starsky’s. The fact that they each had their own ideas of what the lyrics were started a good natured argument that had them exchanging barbs and childish giggles by the time they plunked down in their usual booth at The Cave. Hutch’s favourite waitress, Charmaine, appeared at their table almost instantly with two cold glasses of beer and a promise to return in a couple of minutes with the two specials they’d ordered.

They watched her walk away.

“Do you suppose she knows what she’s doing?” Hutch mused.

“I hope so, she’s been a waitress here for a couple of months, she should have the job down pretty good by now.”

“No, no. I mean, do you suppose she knows what she’s doing to me when she walks away like that?”

Starsky snickered. “And just what is she doing to you, buddy?”

Flashbacks of his dream that morning had him exhaling exaggeratedly as his fist knocked the underside of the table. “That’s what she’s doing to me.”

Starsky laughed and reached for his glass. “Thinking like that could get you arrested you know.”

“Acting on the thinking could get me arrested, at least let me have something.”

“Your problem is you need a new diversion.”

“A new diversion? You mean attending the academy during the day and studying with you at night isn’t enough of a diversion?”

“I mean of the female variety. Come on, Hutch, all study and no play makes Hutch a dull boy.”

“You won’t get any argument from me on that. But I want to get through training first. There’ll be plenty of time for ‘that’ afterwards.”

“For you maybe, but I’m all ready for a little of ‘that’, if you know what I mean?”

Their conversation was interrupted when Huggy slid into the booth beside Starsky.

“Gentlemen,” the black man greeted them. “What it is?”

“Hiya Huggy.”

“Hey, Hug,” Starsky said. “Haven’t seen you around much lately, where’ve you been?”

“Layin’ low, Starsky, keepin’ my ear to the ground, you know me.”

Starsky snorted. “Yeah, I know you, who are ya hidin’ from this time?”

Huggy looked wounded. “Star-sky,” he drew out the other’s name as if his suggestion was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “The Bear hides from no man or beast. This Bear is the king ‘a his kingdom.”

Starsky was unconvinced. “Umm hmm.”

“Now, jealous boyfriends are a different breed entirely. To avoid them, I would drop off the planet.”

“So, you were off dodging some chick’s old man. Why do you think it’s safe to come out now?”

“Because the word on the street is my chick’s rooster is going to be away from the hen house for about two years. He got caught with egg on his face and his hand in someone else’s nest.”

Starsky let the information seep in before his eyes rounded as he deduced the rooster’s identity. “You mean Willy the Wimp?”

“The one and the same.”

Hutch looked from one to the other. “Willy the Wimp? What kind of a name is Willy the Wimp?” He had met a number of the locals through his growing friendship with Starsky, and it only served to confirm his previous observation: no one in this neighbourhood ever used their real name.

“Don’t let the name fool you,” Huggy explained. “The dude is 6′ 6″, about 350 pounds, and a whol’lotta mean.”

Starsky still couldn’t believe it. “And you were messing with his lady?”

“Who just happens to be the answer to any man’s prayer. Fellas, this lady is so fine that the Venus de Milo is jealous.”

Starsky just shook his head. “Well, you’d better be careful, King, or one day, someone’s gonna crown you.”

“Star-sky, I’m always careful. Besides, pretty soon I’ll have the two of you to protect me. It never hurts to have a coupla cops as friends,” Huggy said, then added, “even if it is you two.”

“Gee, Huggy, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Hutch said, dryly.

Starsky leaned forward and pointed a finger at Huggy. “Just make sure we’re protecting you and not arresting you.”

“Star-sky,” the black man protested, fingers splayed across his chest. “That part of my life is over, you know that.”

Starsky paused to draw from his beer. “Maybe, but what about the part that knows everything that’s happenin’ on the street?”

“And what’s wrong with that? A man has to keep informed, don’t he?”

Hutch tuned out the high spirited discussion, letting the words bounce all around him. He was content to just listen to the sound of their voices and not really to what they were saying. How did he manage to end up in this place with two unlikely friends as Starsky and Huggy Bear? Life had sure taken a strange turn for him. But he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He was in control for once. He was making decisions for himself, and if he wanted to sit here in a grungy bar with two guys who were rapidly becoming more than friends, then that’s what he was going to do. The thought sent a delightful surge of satisfaction through him. If his father could see him, he’d have a fit. If his father could see Starsky and Huggy Bear, he’d be apoplectic. After all, they weren’t the type of people his son was supposed to associate with, which, in Hutch’s eyes, made their friendship even sweeter. But they were the people he wanted to be with. They let him be himself. And he was Hutch. Not Ken Hutchinson, but Hutch. Strangely, he fit in here, he felt comfortable here. He still didn’t fully understand it, but he wasn’t fighting it–anymore. What was that saying? Ride with the tide, and go with the flow? It was great advice. So, that’s exactly what he was going to do.

With his thoughts wandering, Hutch’s attention wasn’t far behind. He recognized a few people he knew to be regulars, names were kind of vague still. They were people Starsky had introduced him to over the last few weeks when they were in different stages of inebriation. Over at the bar, he spotted Sweet Alice. She was definitely one pretty lady. She had made thinly veiled suggestions that she was interested in him, but he had politely rebuffed them. Her line of work was something that he couldn’t look past, no matter how attractive he found her. She was perched in her regular spot at the bar, talking to a slim, dark haired man. The man’s hawk like features did nothing but intensify the scowl on his face as he spoke to the pretty blonde. Their voices weren’t loud enough to carry to where he sat, but Hutch could tell they were arguing and for some reason, he was curious to know about what.

“Hey, Hutch.” Starsky waggled his fingers in front of his nose.

“What?” he tried to remember what Starsky had been saying before he tuned him out, but gave up.

“Where’d you go?” He glanced over his shoulder and spied Sweet Alice with the hawk faced man. “Oh, terrific.” The tone in Starsky’s voice caused Huggy to turn and look as well.

Without removing his eyes from the pair, Hutch asked, “Starsk, who is that guy?”

“Janos Martini, Alice’s boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t look like he’s being very friendly for a boyfriend,” Hutch observed.

“Friendly isn’t in his vocabulary.”

He, Starsky, and Huggy watched the escalating altercation. Then something occurred to him, something he’d never thought of before. “Hookers have boyfriends?”

Starsky shrugged and turned forward again in his seat. “Sure. To them prostitution is just their job.”

Charmaine delivered their dinners, but Hutch was too preoccupied to notice. Charmaine did though.

Hutch was still watching Sweet Alice when Martini grabbed her arm and dragged her off the bar stool. It was obvious that Sweet Alice was on the losing end of the argument. She tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but Martini’s claw-like fingers continued to dig into the soft flesh until Sweet Alice squealed in pain. Hutch decided he’d seen enough. Sweet Alice might be a prostitute, but she was also a woman, and you just didn’t treat a woman that way. At least not where he came from. Before he realized what he was doing, he was out of the booth and standing beside Janos Martini. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do now that he’d parked himself beside the two of them, but this Martini guy wasn’t going to hurt a sweet girl like Alice–boyfriend or no boyfriend.

“Hey buddy,” he tapped Martini on the shoulder, “why don’t you leave the lady alone.”

Martini looked at the blonde man and dismissed him with annoyance. “Why don’t you mind your own business, buddy.” His emphasis on the word was not buddy-like. “This is private.”

Hutch straightened his shoulders and tugged on his ear. “Not any more it isn’t. Take your hands off of her.”

“Hi Hutch,” Alice smiled at him, sounding small and vulnerable. There were tears in her eyes. “We were just having a little discussion is all.” Her soft southern drawl did nothing to hide the fear in her voice.

“Hi Alice,” Hutch smiled at her, even though his temper still simmered. “I don’t like the way your friend here discusses things. Are you alright?”

“I’m her old man,” Martini stated, yanking her closer to him. Alice yelped in pain and a fat tear rolled down her cheek. “And I told you to get lost.”

Hutch turned his attention back to the belligerent jerk who continued to hold Sweet Alice in a vice-like grip. This guy was making his blood start to boil. “And I told you to take your hands off of her.”

“Who’s gonna make me, hero? You? And who’s army?” Martini looked him up and down. They were about the same height though Hutch outweighed him by a good 20 pounds. Martini had obviously been figuring the odds and decided Hutch wasn’t much of a threat. What he hadn’t counted on was Starsky’s timely arrival.

“Gee, Hutch, I’ve never been called an army before.”

Starsky had parked himself in a nonchalant slouch against the bar just behind Martini. His quietly spoken comment was enough to spin Martini around in surprise.

“Hiya Janos.” Starsky acknowledged him with a congenial smile. Anyone in hearing distance may have thought the two were old buddies; anyone who was familiar with them knew better.

“Starsky.” He licked his lips nervously, as he eyed the smaller man. The blonde guy, what was his name–Hutch?–didn’t scare him; Starsky, however, definitely made him think twice.

“Hi Sweet Alice,” Starsky cheerfully greeted the girl.

“Hiya Starsk.” Sweet Alice smiled gratefully at Starsky, whose arrival distracted Janos enough that he relinquished his hold on her. She tucked her arm against her chest and rubbed it with her hand.

“So what’s up Janos? Have you met my friend, here, Ken Hutchinson?” He turned to Hutch. “Hutch, have you met Janos yet?”

“Nice to meet you, Janos.” Hutch stuck out his hand and Janos eyed it suspiciously, like it was going to turn into a snake or something. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot a little while ago.” When Janos didn’t accept his hand, Hutch withdrew it, not slighted in the least.

“So, Janos, buddy, what’s goin’ on?” Starsky was being downright cordial, so much so, that Hutch wasn’t entirely certain that Martini wasn’t a long lost friend. But because Hutch was getting to know Starsky so well, he could see that the greeting didn’t extend to his eyes. They had turned as hard and cold as the Arctic sky. Hutch watched Starsky work.

“N-Nothin’, Starsky. H-h-how’ve you been? Haven’t seen you around for awhile.” Martini tripped over the words; Hutch almost laughed.

“That’s because I’ve got a new job, Janos.” He studied the worn toes of his boots as he spoke. He was completely at ease–at least he looked like he was. “Actually, me and Hutch here have new jobs. We’re gonna be cops. Thought you might’ve heard all about it by now.” He peered at Martini from under raised eyebrows.

Martini tried to swallow the lump lodged in his throat. “Cops, huh? T-T-That’s great to hear, Starsky.”

“So as cops, we’re gonna be around to keep the public safe. You with me so far, Janos?”

“Sure, Starsky, sure.”

“Now, my friend here, Hutch,” he pointed to the blonde, “saw something happening here he didn’t like. Right Hutch?” Hutch nodded, enjoying the scene playing out in front of him. He was also a little relieved that Starsky stepped in when he did. He wasn’t entirely sure that he could’ve finished what he’d started on his own. He was quite happy to relinquish the lead to Starsky, and Starsky seemed to enjoy taking it. He continued on in the same friendly tone of voice. “Now Hutch seems to think that you’re not being very nice to Sweet Alice here. I tried to tell him that he must’a been wrong, because I know you’d never do that, would you, Janos?” Martini shook his head. “Especially not here, not now, with two cops sitting right over there.” He nodded to where Huggy still sat at the booth. “So we just thought we’d come over to make sure nothing was happenin’, ain’t that right, Hutch?”

Hutch was enjoying his buddy’s performance so much, he joined in. “That’s right, Starsk.” He took a step towards Martini, as did Starsky.

Martini’s head swiveled between the two men as they closed ranks around him. He considered the devil he knew–Starsky–and the devil he didn’t–Hutch–and decided he didn’t really want to know either one. He abandoned Sweet Alice and escaped from between the two men, back-pedaling towards the door.

“Hey, Janos, where’re ya goin’?” Starsky called after him.

Martini resembled a frightened rabbit. “I’ve got some people I gotta see, you know, business.”

“But we were just getting acquainted, Janos,” Hutch protested. “How about you comin’ over to the booth and having a drink with us? What do ya say?”

“Thanks, no, I’ve really got to go.” Martini laughed nervously. He tripped on the stairs leading up to the door and fell on his butt. He scrambled to his feet and without another word, retreated out the door.

Starsky and Hutch watched the clumsy departure then turned to Sweet Alice. She stood quietly by, still massaging her upper arm that had begun to bruise slightly. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Alice? Are you alright?” Hutch asked, tilting his head to see her better.

Wordlessly she walked into his arms and slipped her arms around his waist. A little startled by the action and at finding a woman suddenly wrapped around him, Hutch hesitated before slipping his hands around her shoulders and pulling her to his chest. She melted into his embrace and he held her for a few moments, his chin resting on her head. Starsky looked on silently. He reached for some napkins and handed them to Hutch. He peeled the girl from his chest and handed her the napkins. She took them, though she didn’t meet his gaze. She stared at his chest, embarrassed by her weak moment.

She dabbed at her eyes and looked up at the blonde man who still held her loosely in his arms. He looked a little blurry through her tears. “Well,” she said a little breathlessly. “I’m sorry, Hutch, I don’t know what came over me.” It sounded like a well worn line from a Civil War movie, but he didn’t care.

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to apologize for,” he told her. “I just didn’t like the way things were going.”

“So you rode to my rescue,” she looked up at him shyly, with a touch of hero-worship in her eyes, “my very own white knight.”

A small grin tugged at his mouth. “I don’t know about being a white knight…”

“Oh, but you are, Handsome Hutch, you are.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with her hand.

With Starsky still looking on, albeit, a little uncomfortable at the personal direction the conversation was heading, Hutch gently took her hand from his cheek and kissed the back of it. “Okay.” He wasn’t about to argue with her. Besides, he kinda liked the thought of being somebody’s white knight. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, sure. But I think I’m gonna call it a night, if y’all don’t mind?” She reluctantly pulled her hand from his and laid it on his chest. She peered up at him from under long lashes. “Unless, you wanna give me a ride home, so I can thank you properly… in person?”

He shook his head reluctantly. “Ah, Alice…”

She bit her lower lip. “I know, Handsome Hutch, I know.”

She picked up her bag and left the bar without once looking back.

Hutch sighed. Starsky dropped his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze.

“Hey, Handsome Hutch, our dinner’s getting cold.”

“Now, don’t you start,” Hutch wagged a warning finger in his face.

“Me? Start what?” he replied innocently as he led the way back to the booth.

It was well after midnight when Starsky and Hutch decided to head home. As they reached the top of the stairs outside, Starsky was fiddling with the zipper on his jacket and didn’t notice that Hutch had stopped in front of him, causing him to bump into him.

“What…?” He looked up and saw what had halted Hutch in his tracks.

Leaning up against the white Mustang were three burly men–and Janos Martini.

“Terrific,” Starsky muttered under his breath.

“This doesn’t look good,” Hutch said unnecessarily. Starsky had made the same assessment. “What do we do?”

Starsky was taking stock of their surroundings and figuring the odds. “Did you bring your brass knuckles?”

“That’s not very encouraging, Starsk.”

“It’s the best I can do on short notice. Follow my lead.” Starsky stepped around him and walked up to the four men that stood between them and his car.

Like I’ve got a choice, Hutch thought to himself as he trailed behind.

Starsky stopped a few feet in front of Martini, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, prepared for a confrontation that seemed to be inevitable. He surveyed the three men and dismissed them with a bored glance. “Hey, Janos, ya came back… and I see you’ve been to the zoo. I didn’t know they let the animals out at night.”

“Still talking big, huh, Starsky?” Janos smirked and folded his arms across his chest. He was feeling a lot more confident now than he did a few hours ago. Then again, confident wasn’t really the right word–inflated was.

And Starsky was looking forward to deflating him one more time. He mirrored Janos’ dogmatic stance, crossing his arms as well. “And you’re still stupid, huh, Janos?” Janos didn’t like that. “Hey, look Hutch, Janos brought some friends for us to play with.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, Starsk,” he ambled up beside Starsky, his hands casually shoved in his pockets. It was a direct contrast to the heart-pounding nerves he was feeling inside. But he continued to follow Starsky’s lead. He tilted his head and looked at the four men. “I was just trying to figure out what species they are.”

Starsky frowned and looked at Hutch. “What if we threw some bananas at them?

That made him want to laugh, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of his nerves or because he found the whole situation absurdly funny. It was all he could do to keep a straight face. “No, I’m thinking peanuts.”

“I dunno, I don’t think they’re smart enough to break ’em open.”

“You may be right. They don’t look very bright, do they?” Starsky shook his head sadly.

“Maybe that’s why Janos, here, thought he needed three guys to do his dirty work?”

“Maybe, but I’m surprised. Only three guys?” Still sounding conversational, he meandered over to where the men were propped up against his car. Janos stepped out to intercept him. In a move that was fresh from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Starsky drove his knee into Janos’ crotch and all hell broke loose.

Martini hit the pavement, a stunned expression of pain on his face. He wouldn’t have been much use in a fight anyway. In a previous encounter, Starsky discovered Martini had a glass jaw, so he just assumed that he had glass balls as well. With Martini writhing on the ground, Starsky took on two of the three remaining gorillas. Hutch had launched himself at the third. He was trying to keep an eye on what was happening to the left of him, but the big ape he’d chosen was keeping him busy. He found himself thrown over the hood of the Mustang and into the path of on coming traffic, luckily landing just out of the way of a passing car. He scrambled to his feet and vaulted back over the hood, catching the ape in a flying tackle that should’ve gotten him at least a look-see by the Minnesota Vikings–if this were Minnesota. The two men landed in a heap on the ground, Hutch on top. He smoothly rolled to his feet, ready for the next assault. The effects of the flying tackle and of a 160-pound man landing on him had left the ape-man a little unsteady as he staggered to his feet. Hutch met him with a right-left combination that made him reel, grabbed the ape’s arm, and spun him into the wall. There was a sickening crunch before the ape slithered down the wall unconscious. Hutch swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, noting absently that there was blood there. He got his bearings and glanced over to see what Starsky was up against.

“HUUUTTTCCCHHH!”

Starsky’s yell wasn’t as much a cry for help as it was a warning and that may have been the reason why something made him duck. The second ape went hurdling over his back, smacking into the same wall the first ape did. A quick look at the damage, and Hutch noted that he wasn’t moving either. He turned back to Starsky and saw that he was putting the finishing touches on the third guy by dumping him head first into a trash can. With only his legs left hanging out, the third guy was either unconscious as well or pretending to be. The only one of the four men that was moving was Janos and that was barely. He had struggled to his feet, his knees still clamped together, and his face white as a sheet. He glowered at Starsky with undisguised hatred. One hand kept him propped up against the Mustang, the other supported his bruised pride. He had yet to find his voice. Starsky was still breathing heavily when Hutch joined him beside the car.

“You okay?” Hutch asked his friend, as he checked his bloodied lip again.

“Yeah, you?” Starsky replied, cracking his knuckles.

“Yeah.”

“Good work, by the way.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting the compliment with a little pride. Hutch nodded towards Martini. “What are we gonna do about him?”

Starsky adjusted his clothing and gingerly touched a reddening spot on his forehead. “Nothin’. He can go out with the rest of the trash.” He shoved Janos away from his car. Janos landed in a heap on the fallen trash can. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He slapped Hutch on the shoulder, and they got in the Mustang. Starsky stuck the key in the ignition and started the motor, but he hesitated before pulling away from the curb.

“Hey Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

Starsky turned to him and grinned. “Just like Butch and Sundance, huh?”

Starsky came out with the damnedest things at the damnedest times. He shook his head and laughed.

“Yeah, Starsk, just like Butch and Sundance.”

They headed for home.

It took a little longer for word of their Friday night antics to make the rounds of the academy students, but it did. Of course, looking at either one of them, anyone could tell they had been in some kind of fight. Starsky sported a reddish-purple bruise over his right eye and Hutch was still nursing a split lip. There were some comments and off colour remarks, but the interest died down quickly, and life at the academy continued as usual.

Days turned into weeks and the training schedule intensified. By the time they’d reached the half way mark of the academic training, 12 rookies had quit or had been dropped from the program by the administration. Grades were an important consideration, but so was attitude, so even if a rookie was academically proficient, it still didn’t guarantee a spot in the graduating class. Only the top 30% would graduate, and that was based on the rookies’ overall combined mark.

Starsky, Hutch, and Colby still found themselves within that top percentage and there didn’t seem to be any chance of them relinquishing their positions. Of the three of them, Hutch continued to be the academically strong one, followed by Colby, then Starsky. But with grades still to come in driving, physical fitness, and the shooting range, Starsky was quietly confident that his strongest disciplines hadn’t been tested yet, and he couldn’t wait to show them just what he could do.

Starsky, at Hutch’s suggestion, moved into the canal side cottage for the duration of the training. Hutch’s argument was that they were spending so much time together any way, it would make more sense than having to traipse across town to each other’s place every other night to study. Besides, Starsky was finding it more and more difficult at his aunt and uncle’s house with it’s many distractions, so Hutch didn’t have to do too much persuading. And, though grateful for the invitation, Starsky was a little leery about their compatibility in such close quarters. What if they ended up hating each other? It was fine to spend a lot of time together, but living together was a totally different matter. His fears were unfounded as he and Hutch got along even better than before. They spent almost every waking moment together when not in class: studying, eating, relaxing, just hanging out. They discovered everything there was to know about the other when late night study sessions evolved into trading stories about growing up, family, fears, and dreams. They would sit side by side on the sofa, a few candles lit to dispel the darkness, and just talk over a couple of beers. They also discovered a mutual love of Monopoly and often challenged each other to Monopoly marathons on the weekends with Starsky always ending up on the short end of the bank roll and Hutch vowing to extract payment for unpaid bills by selling Starsky’s beloved Mustang.

Then there were the nights that Hutch would pull out his guitar and sing, accompanied by Starsky’s enthusiastic, though often off-key, tenor. It didn’t matter what song it was– a standard or a composition of Hutch’s– they all were subjected to the unique stylings of David Starsky, which usually left Hutch laughing uncontrollably at his interpretation of the lyrics. That would go on until Starsky would lean back and just listen to Hutch play, enveloped in a warm blanket of contentment as the lyrics and the music flowed over him.

The living arrangement continued as they wound up training at the academy.

Hutch, as expected, finished near the top of the class on the strength of his academic performance. Starsky surprised many and finished in the top 10, even ahead of Colby, which earned him a steak dinner courtesy of the younger man. Starsky was pleased with his mark, owing most of the credit to Hutch’s patient tutelage. Hutch was almost as pleased as Starsky as he knew all along that his buddy had the ability to pull it off.

With the book training over, they were both eager to hit the streets. They had gotten their assignments the week before and were disappointed to discover that they wouldn’t be working in the same precinct together. Starsky had been assigned to Metro division under Captain Dobey, while Hutch had been assigned to Lieutenant Mike Ferguson out in Venice. The truth was they probably wouldn’t see very much of each other now that they had been assigned.

It was Monday morning, the first day of three months of probation after which they would be full fledged cops. Starsky stood in front of the bathroom mirror and examined the clean cut young man that looked back at him. Gone were the trademark unruly curls. His hair was as short as it had been in the army. He didn’t like it much, but the haircut did make the cap fit better. He adjusted the black police cap a little lower on his forehead and surveyed the results. The uniform was immaculate; the badge on his left breast had been polished till it was glowing, and the little plaque above it spelled out his name: STARSKY. The leather of his gun belt had been buffed till it shone. He had to admit, he really did look pretty good. He really looked like a cop now. And he felt like one. He studied the face in the mirror.

“Just the facts, ma’am.”

Yeah, that sounded like a cop, looked like a cop, too.

“Freeze, police officer.”

That wasn’t bad, either.

“You’re under arrest.”

That sounded pretty damn good. Needs more attitude, though.

He squared his shoulders and fixed the mirror with a steely glare.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney–” the recitation of the Miranda rights stopped abruptly as a sly grin spread across his face, “then you’re shit out of luck, turkey.” Snickering, he winked at the cop in the mirror.

“Hey, Starsk! Did you fall in? Come on, will ya?” Banging on the door brought him back to earth. He flipped the lock and let in Hutch. “What were you doin’ in here? Giving yourself a manicure?” His buddy poked him in the stomach on his way to the sink.

“No, I was, you know, practicing.”

“Practicing?” His eyebrows arched. “Practicing what?” Recently shorn, Hutch’s blonde hair refused to cooperate, insisting on standing up on end. He ran his fingers under the tap, hoping that a little water might tame it. “Can you believe this haircut?” He patted the offending spot and examined his efforts.

Starsky watched his friend fuss with the fine hair and silently thanked whichever relative was responsible for his thick brown curls. Blondes might have more fun, but he did alright, and he didn’t have to work at controlling his hair like Hutch did. Leaning back against the door jamb, he folded his arms across his chest. “Well, look at the bright side. At least they left some. We could’ve ended up with buzz cuts.”

Hutch grunted. A little more water was applied.

“So what were you practicing?”

“Hmm?” His mind skipped back to his performance in front of the mirror, and a crimson flush crept up his neck. I was practicing cop talk. That sounded ridiculous, and it was just the type of thing that Hutch would rib him about for days. No, better to not say anything at all.

“Nothin’.”

“What do you mean, nothin’? You said you were practicing. Practicing what?”

“Nothin’. Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Starsky pushed away from the jamb, grabbed a small duffle that contained a change of clothes, and walked over to the front door to wait for Hutch.

“Why do you do that?” Hutch asked, when he caught up to him at the door. “You say something and then when I ask you to explain it, you walk away.”

“Because,” the flush crept to his cheeks, “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind.”

“Yeah. It’s allowed.”

“If you’re a woman, maybe.”

Starsky shot him a pained look. “Come on, let’s go.” He tugged on the door, but Hutch prevented him from opening it all the way.

“No, wait a second, Starsk.”

“Hutch, will ya come on?”

Hutch placed a hand on Starsky’s arm. “I want to know what you were practicing.”

Exasperated and totally embarrassed, Starsky sighed heavily. “Nothin’.”

“Starsky, if you think you’re going to get out of this house without telling me what you were doin’ in the bathroom, then…..” he paused for dramatic effect as a ghost of grin teased his mouth, “… then you’re shit out of luck!” There was no stopping Hutch’s laughter after that.

With his embarrassment complete, Starsky let his buddy have his fun, and Hutch was definitely taking advantage of it. He sighed in annoyance and waited until his friend finally sobered.

“Can we go now?” He yanked the door open and walked out.

Chuckling to himself, Hutch picked up his bag and followed Starsky out of the cottage, locking the door behind him. He caught up to him easily as they walked to their cars. Starsky unlocked the driver’s side door and tossed the duffle bag on the passenger seat. He hesitated before climbing under the wheel.

“I guess I’ll see you after work.”

Hutch nodded. “5:30 at The Cave, right?”

“Right.”

Neither one moved.

“You nervous?” Hutch asked.

“Naw, you?”

” ‘Course not.” They exchanged looks but still didn’t move.

It was a big day in both their lives, it ought to have been marked by some words of wisdom. All the training, all the studying, all the doubts came down to this one day. But what was there to say? Except maybe…

“Hey, Starsk?”

“Yeah?”

“Take it easy out there today, huh?”

Starsky hinted at a smile, his blue eyes softening at Hutch’s simply stated words. A brisk nod reciprocated the sentiment.

Then he watched as Starsky fired up the little white car and roared off towards downtown.

A full minute after Starsky left, Hutch guided the Edsel out of the driveway, pulling away in the opposite direction.

At 5:45, The Cave was filling up. Starsky checked the door for the umpteenth time in the last 15 minutes wondering where Hutch could be. He played with the glass of beer in front of him looking for an outlet for the nervous energy bottled up inside. His eyes skipped across the room, recording everything that was going on around him. All the regulars were out, and Starsky had nothing to do except sit and watch them while he waited for Hutch.

Sweet Alice was on her usual bar stool chatting with an overweight guy in a business suit. Janos hadn’t been around since the altercation at the car, so maybe he’d finally gotten the hint. Janos was a slug, and Starsky had never been able to figure out how he’d ended up with Sweet Alice. She was a nice girl, regardless of what she had to do to survive, but no one should have to put up with Janos Martini.

Huggy wasn’t around again, hadn’t been for a few days, which made him wonder what his friend was up to this time. He had known Huggy for several years, known that some of Huggy’s activities weren’t exactly on the up and up, and he also knew when not to ask any questions.

And speaking of questions, where the heck was Hutch?

The blonde arrived five minutes later.

Hutch folded his long body and slid smoothly into the booth. Starsky looked at him over the rim of his glass as he drained the rest of his beer, noting an excitement in Hutch that threatened to erupt at any second. His blue eyes shimmered like gemstones and a smile stretched from ear to ear.

“Well, it’s about time you got here,” Starsky greeted him with an amused expression. “Thought you got lost.”

“I know, I know.” Hutch waved off his friend’s complaints like they were pesky insects. He had waited all day to talk to Starsky, and now that he was finally sitting in front of him, he didn’t want to waste time with chit chat. After all, this was important– this was life altering– this was the best thing that had ever happened to him– and he wanted to share it with his best friend.

But before he could, Charmaine appeared at his side and placed beers in front of both of them. She removed Starsky’s empty glass and caught the playful wink Hutch directed at her. She winked back. They watched her sashay back to the bar then Hutch turned his attention back to Starsky.

“Starsky,” he announced proudly. “I have found my destiny. I was born to be a cop.”

Starsky blinked twice at his friend sitting across the table. This was a first. Hutch was usually reticent and reserved, constantly ribbing Starsky about his child-like enthusiasm. And now, the roles seemed to be reversed. Hutch looked like he’d just been handed the keys to the toy store. At least it looked like Hutch, it didn’t sound like him, but it looked like him. Starsky’s eyebrows arched as an indulgent grin slowly creased his face. “Really?”

“Yes, really. I’m tellin’ ya. I have never felt so– ‘alive’ before in my life!” There was wonder in his voice, like the whole concept was completely new to him. His enthusiasm building, Hutch leaned across the table, his features animated, his big hands fanning the air to emphasize his words. “Starsky, I had the most incredible day!”

“Did you?”

“I did! We went out on half a dozen calls, I wrote three reports, and–” he paused for effect,”I made my first arrest!”

“No kidding. All on your first day?”

“All on my first day!” Hutch slumped back in his seat, a thoughtful expression on his face. “And you know what else?”

“What?”

“It isn’t anything like it is on TV…. except on Adam 12, maybe.”

Starsky stifled a chuckle and planted his chin in his palm. Hutch was serious.

“No, really.” Hutch massaged his chin, thoughtfully. If he noticed Starsky’s amusement, he ignored it. “I mean, things don’t happen exactly as they do on that show, but did you know the stories are taken from real police cases?”

Yeah, he knew, he usually watched it every week. But Hutch was serious– really serious. “No kidding? Really?”

“Yeah.” He took a drink from his beer. “Who knows? The cases I worked on today might be on television one day.” He leaned back and stared at a spot on the wall behind Starsky’s head. “You know? I could see Martin Milner playing me. I mean, he is blonde– like me– but not nearly as good looking.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Blondie. Martin Milner would never play you in a million years.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Hutch shrugged. “Maybe you’re right. I think Robert Redford looks more like me, anyhow.”

“What? Robert Redford?”

“Yeah, you know, the guy who played the Sundance Kid.”

“I know who he is.”

“Blue eyes, blonde hair… handsome devil, just like me,” he announced. “Maybe I should grow a moustache? What do you think?” He combed the imaginary hair below his lip.

Starsky rolled his eyes. “I think I need another beer.”

Colby’s arrival halted the debate.

“Hey, guys.”

“Hey, John,” Hutch greeted him.

“Colby, where’ve you been?” Starsky flashed a glance at his watch. “You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

“I know, I know, but something came up.”

Starsky smiled a little evilly, “Was she a blonde something or a brunette something?”

“Neither, smart ass,” Colby chuckled, sliding into the booth beside Hutch. “But I’ve got something to tell you guys.”

Hutch took a swig of his beer. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“I quit.”

“You quit? Quit what?”

“The police force.”

“You what?” Starsky couldn’t really believe he’d heard him right. “But today was your first day.”

“I know.”

Hutch was just as stunned as Starsky by Colby’s announcement. “How come, John?”

“The Air Force.” They stared at him blankly. “I’ve been accepted.” He looked from Hutch to Starsky and back to Hutch again. “Isn’t that great?”

Starsky found his voice. “The Air Force? No kidding?”

“No kidding. I head out to Colorado Springs at the end of this week.”

“Wow, that soon, huh?” Hutch asked, still surprised by the news.

“Yup, that soon.”

The three men exchanged glances. Colby seemed to be waiting for their approval.

“Well?”

“Well, congratulations, John. I’m happy for you.” Hutch shook the younger man’s hand. He had a sense of foreboding from Colby’s announcement, but he seemed to be so happy that he couldn’t help but endorse it.

“Yeah, I hope it’s everything you want it to be.” Starsky didn’t shake his hand, but he did offer him a salute. Colby returned it with a broad smile. He only hoped that Colby would feel the same way once he finally saw duty.

“Guys, I can’t believe it’s all happening so fast. Come on, drinks are on me tonight, what do you say?” Colby waved to Charmaine. She arrived momentarily. “Charmaine, honey, I want you to bring us all the beer we can drink tonight. Do you think you can do that?”

Charmaine retreated to the bar long enough to bring fresh beers to the table. With a promise to keep the beer flowing, she went off to tend to her other customers.

True to form, the three men watched her leave.

“Gentlemen,” Colby sighed, “that is a beautiful woman.”

Starsky shook his head. “Child, Colby, she is a child.”

“What are you talking about? She’s older than I am. She is all woman, Starsky.”

Hutch’s attention diverted to Colby. “What? What do you mean she’s older than you are?”

“She’s older than I am, man. Didn’t you know?”

He stared accusingly at Starsky. “You told me she was 18!”

Starsky sputtered as Hutch pushed Colby out of the booth, making a bee-line for Charmaine.

Laughing, Colby reclaimed his seat. “I can’t believe he didn’t know that?”

“How did you find out?”

“Well, I asked her out and she turned me down. Seems she only has eyes for our blonde friend there.” He jabbed a thumb towards Hutch.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste, is there?”

Hutch returned a few moments later, proud to have secured a date with the girl that haunted his dreams for so long.

Beer flowed while the three men celebrated.

It was the last time they saw John Colby.

 

In the two years that followed, Starsky and Hutchinson matured from rookies to seasoned patrol officers at a rate that had a great deal to do with the challenges they faced on the job. Starsky, with his partner, Frank Graham, continued to patrol the inner city beat under the command of Captain Dobey. Hutch, under the watchful eye of Lt. Mike Ferguson, pounded the pavement near the Venice area he called home. And while a lot of the lustre of their ideal job had worn off, their enthusiasm for the work they did, hadn’t. And that did not go unnoticed by their superiors or by the criminal element on the streets. They continued to impress the people for whom they worked, rapidly gaining top cop reputations. The criminals weren’t so impressed, as the two officers definitely put a dent in any and all illegal activities. Their names became synonymous with the law, and the bad guys wanted no part of them.

Their off time continued to be spent in each other’s company whenever possible. When Hutch’s car finally died, Starsky went with him to pick out another one. When it was time for Starsky to move into his own place, Hutch lugged boxes until he thought his back would require traction. Girlfriends came and went, including Charmaine. Cases were discussed over beer and pizza at The Cave until Huggy opened his own establishment. Bowling, Monopoly, and basketball were their games of choice. Friendship was transcended by a brotherhood that neither one could explain.

It was a rainy day in July when everything changed. Starsky’s partner, Frank Graham, took three bullets to the chest and died en route to the hospital. Starsky got the news when he arrived at the hospital shortly after the ambulance that had transported his partner. He stood in the waiting room near the ER, water dripping from his short curly hair and Frank’s blood staining his hands and his uniform, the words of the doctor still ringing in his ears. Dead. Frank was dead.

He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

The room started to swirl around him, and it was all he could do to make it over to the bank of chairs that lined the wall and slide down into one before he fell down. He felt sick to his stomach, and he started to shake all over.

Dead. Frank was dead.

He couldn’t believe it.

 

Hutch prowled the corridors of the hospital looking for Starsky. It had been over two hours since the shooting, and Hutch was growing more and more anxious with every second that passed. He had to still be here. He wasn’t anywhere to be found at the precinct and he wasn’t at his apartment, and knowing Starsky the way he did, he knew he would be holed up somewhere; he just had to figure out where. It had to be the hospital. This is where he was last seen by the officers who were handling the investigation. Apparently, Starsky had followed the ambulance over here, finding out on his arrival that Frank didn’t make it. That news must have devastated him. Frank had been more than Starsky’s partner, he was a father figure to his buddy, a mentor. Frank and his family had practically adopted Starsky, and Starsky, with his typical childlike enthusiasm, happily accepted the roll. It was only a matter of time for him to bring Hutch along for the ride. He and Hutch became regular visitors to the Graham household, joining them for family events, holiday celebrations, and for dinner on almost a weekly basis.

And now, Frank was dead. If Starsky ever needed a friend it was now, that was why Hutch, still in full uniform, logged out and went in search of his best friend, hoping that when he found him, he didn’t find a basket case.

Two trips around the first floor of the hospital ER and still no sign of his best friend. He stopped to catch his breath and consider his next move when a nurse tapped him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, Officer?”

Hutch spun around, “Yes?”

“Are you looking for someone?” She was an older woman with a kind face.

“Yes, my buddy. His partner was shot and killed earlier today. I thought he might still be here?”

“Actually, I believe he is,” the nurse pointed to a door down the corridor. “I think you’ll find him in there.”

Relieved, Hutch thanked her and strode down the hall to the door she had indicated. He hesitated. Starsky was in there? The door the nurse had pointed to led to the hospital chapel.

He pushed the door open and slipped inside, trying not to make any noise that would disturb the tranquil peace of the little room. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the flickering candle light that was the chapel’s only illumination. It revealed a sparsely adorned room. The only furniture consisted of several rows of chairs lined up in front of a simple table that was draped in linens and decorated with candles. Slumped in one of those chairs was Starsky.

He slowly made his way to the first row of chairs and sat down beside his friend. Starsky didn’t even look at him or acknowledge his arrival. He just kept his gaze fixed on the candles on the table. Hutch was reluctant to break the silence, he didn’t know what to say anyway. But the atmosphere in the little room was calm and serene, a definite contrast to what he had expected to find. He had thought that Starsky would be on the verge of losing it, at the very least, ready to throw something. He wasn’t prepared for the Starsky that sat composed and still and quiet, staring at candles. Could he be in shock?

“Starsk?”

“He’s dead, Hutch.” The words were heavy with sadness.

He reached over and squeezed Starsky’s arm. “I know, buddy.”

Starsky looked down at his hands, at the blood that still stained them. “Has anybody….? Does Mitzi know yet?”

“Yeah. Dobey was going over there to tell her.” Hutch, too, looked down at Starsky’s hands, and saw the dried blood. He knew Starsky hadn’t been injured, so it had to be Frank’s blood. Starsky had been sitting here for two hours with the blood of his dead partner on his hands. That worried him. “Starsk? You okay?”

Starsky inhaled deeply and sighed, nodding slightly. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Hutch wasn’t totally convinced about that, but he accepted it for now.

“You know? I’ve been sitting here thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“Frank was a good cop.”

“One of the best.”

“Then how come he’s dead?”

How was he supposed to answer that question? He turned to look at Starsky, who had abandoned his examination of his hands to look at him intently. All he could see was pain in the depths of the blue eyes that looked to him for answers. Problem was he didn’t have any answers. He didn’t have anything to give Starsky right now, except maybe a shoulder to lean on. But was that going to be enough this time?

Starsky was speaking again.

“I mean why Frank? Why did this have to happen to him? He did everything the way he was supposed to. He met a nice girl, fell in love, got married, had a kid. He was a good cop. Did his job like he was supposed to. How does someone like that end up dead?”

Hutch shrugged slightly, feeling just a little helpless. “I don’t know, Starsk.”

“What’s Mitzi going to do now? And what about Lisa?”

“It’s gonna be rough on them,” Hutch admitted, thinking about Frank’s wife and young daughter.

“It’s not fair, Hutch.”

Still not sure where Starsky was going with his line of reasoning, Hutch agreed carefully, “No it’s not.”

“Then why him? Why not me? It could have just as easily been me. Hell, maybe it should’ve been.”

The thought made Hutch shudder because it had crossed his mind. Actually, it had more than crossed his mind, it had settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach. When he had first heard the report of an officer down and realized it was Starsky and Graham on the call, he had broken out in a cold sweat and did his best not to panic. He even caught himself saying a little prayer to the Man upstairs as he tried to find out more information on his best friend. When the news finally came through that it was Frank and not Starsky that had been hit, Hutch sagged with relief and ignored the feeling of guilt that went along with it. But what he couldn’t ignore was the feeling that propelled him to go looking for Starsky. He didn’t question why at the time, but now he knew. Because if it had been Starsky that had been killed, something in Hutch would’ve died along with him.

And that realization scared the hell out of him.

“What’s the matter with you? Do you hear what you’re saying? Yeah, it could’ve been you. Do you think I haven’t thought of that?” The words came out a little more harshly then he had intended. Maybe this whole incident had affected him more than he was ready to admit. “How do you think I would feel if it were you that had been killed today?”

Starsky looked at him. Hutch’s outburst startled him out of his frustrated anger long enough for him to admit, “I didn’t think of that.”

“Well, that’s all I could think about. Starsky, you can’t feel guilty for being alive.”

“But it was my fault.”

“What?”

“I was supposed to be backing him up. He’s dead because of me.”

So that’s what this was all about.

Hutch wiped his face with his hands, hoping to buy a few seconds to adjust to Starsky’s train of thought. According to the initial reports, Starsky and his partner responded to a convenience store hold up, and while Starsky was risking his life to rescue two hostages, Graham was drawing the fire of the two hold up men. By the time back up arrived, Frank had been shot, the two perpetrators had escaped, and Starsky was doing everything in his power to save his partner. There was no way Starsky could be blamed for what happened to Frank. He had handled it the way he was supposed to. It was standard operating procedure. And he also knew that Starsky knew it too. But that wouldn’t make it any easier for Starsky to accept.

“Ah, Starsk. You can’t go blaming yourself for what happened to Frank. I heard the reports. It was a no win situation.”

“But he was my partner, Hutch.”

“And you’re my best friend. If someone had to die out there today, I’m damn glad it wasn’t you, buddy. Maybe that sounds selfish, but I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I’m glad to be having this conversation with you instead of him.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes. He could tell Starsky was digesting what he’d just said. The strain on his face eased a bit and the fire that had fuelled his frustrated anger seemed to have been extinguished, at least for the moment.

“I just can’t believe he’s dead.”

“I know, and it’s a tragedy, but it would only make it worse if you took yourself down along with him. Frank did what he knew he had to do. It’s a choice he made when he put on the uniform. And there’s nothing you can say or do that is going to change what happened.”

“I know.”

They sat side by side in silence. Hutch wasn’t sure if anything he’d said had actually made sense to his grieving friend. He was still pretty rattled himself, he could only guess at what Starsky was going through.

“Look, Starsk? I know that you’re hurting and I know there isn’t a whole lot I can say or do to help you through this, but you can’t let it eat you up inside. If Frank knew you were doing this to yourself, he’d be the first one down here to kick your ass.”

Starsky let a chuckle escape. “Yeah, he would, wouldn’t he?” The vision of Frank booting his ass all over Bay City was enough to break the tension that had coiled inside him.

“You know it.”

“Hey Hutch?”

“Yeah?” He could feel Starsky’s eyes on him and he turned to meet them.

“I’m glad you were here.”

“Me too, buddy.” He patted Starsky’s thigh. “Where else would I be, huh?”

Starsky bestowed him with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes and said thank you in ways words couldn’t. The pain was still there, but the spark that usually flashed in the blue eyes of his friend had returned. At least that was progress.

“So, what now? Are you ready to get out of here?” Hutch pushed to his feet and waited as Starsky joined him.

“Yeah. I was ready two hours ago. What took ya so long to get here?” He checked his watch as he turned to head for the door.

“Wait a second. You’ve been waiting for me?” Hutch’s hand against his chest stopped Starsky in his tracks.

“Yeah.”

He frowned. “How did you know that I would come looking for you?”

“Because you’re Butch, and I’m Sundance.”

Hutch shook his head to try and clear the cobwebs that must have been there. Starsky could change gears like no one else, and he just did it again. He had no idea what he was talking about. “What?”

“Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” Hutch still looked confused. “They were buddies. Like you and me. Me and thee. I knew you’d be here.” The way Starsky explained it made it seem like it should have been painfully obvious.

He left the chapel while Hutch stood there in stunned silence.

A few seconds passed before the door opened wide enough for Starsky to poke his head back into the room. “Are ya coming?”

They left the hospital with Hutch at the wheel and drove down to Metro so Starsky could shower and change clothes. He still had a report to file on the shooting, and he decided that now was as good a time as any to do it, especially since Dobey would be on the war path looking for it if he wasn’t already. Thankfully, the squad room was virtually empty so it didn’t take him long to type out his paper work and sign it. Hutch stood by and waited while he worked, never too far away at any time, ready to run interference or support if needed. Now he just had to drop it off on Dobey’s desk and hopefully he could be on his way. The desire to bolt out of the room was growing stronger and stronger with every passing second, and for Starsky, that wasn’t normal. Where was that dogged determination he relied on to get him through any situation? Where was that burning drive to meet any and all challenges head on?

It was sitting in a twisted mass on the floor of the ER.

The Captain was on the phone when he walked in. When he saw Starsky, he motioned for him to wait while he finished his call. Starsky groaned inwardly. This was one conversation he had been dreading. He had hoped to just drop off his report and get out without having to speak to Dobey.

As he stood waiting, his gaze meandered around the room. Everything was exactly where it had been a mere eight hours ago, the last time he had been in this very spot. Eight hours ago. It was just like any other normal day. He and Frank were getting briefed on an assignment by Dobey. Frank was making notes on the particulars, and Starsky was, well, being Starsky. He fiddled with the pencils in Dobey’s pencil cup as he bounced from side to side with barely contained energy, impatient to get on with whatever it was so that he and Frank could hit the streets. And like normal, Dobey yelled at him for his hair being too long, not having enough polish on his boots, and some other affront to the uniform. It was a game they both played. And Frank would stand beside him patiently waiting while he and Dobey went through their routine.

Normal was eight hours ago, it might as well have been a lifetime ago.

Now, there was no more normal. There were no more games. There was no more Frank. So how could everything still look the same as it did eight hours ago?

When Dobey finally hung up the phone minutes later, it had felt like he had been standing there for hours.

“Starsky,” he began, “I just want you to know how sorry I am about Frank. He was a good cop.”

Starsky’s eyes dropped to the report in his hands. There was that urge to bolt again. He commanded his feet to stay put. “Thank you, Cap’n.”

“How are you holdin’ up?”

Starsky shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “Fine, Cap’n, thanks.”

Dobey grunted, and Starsky wasn’t sure if he believed him or not.

“I went to see Mitzi and Lisa, to tell them what happened.”

“How are they doing?”

“They’re coping as well as can be expected.”

Starsky nodded slightly. He had thought about his partner’s wife and daughter while he was in the chapel, but he was mired so deep in his own pain that he couldn’t fully grasp what they were going through. He was stabbed with guilt.

“Mitzi was asking for you. Wanted to know how you were doing.”

Yeah, that sounded like Mitzi, always thinking of others. Mitzi had just lost her husband and the father of her child, and she was worried about him. The guilt twisted into a knot in his stomach. “I’ll stop by there and see how they’re doing.” But not today, I can’t do it today.

“How are you doing, Starsky? Really?”

His tentative gaze slid up to meet Dobey’s narrowed one. “I told you, Cap’n. I’m fine.”

Dobey stared at him, and Starsky tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. The knot in his stomach got bigger. He wasn’t fine, every second that ticked away confirmed what Dobey knew from the moment he walked into the office. Dobey had a sixth sense about stuff like that, especially when it came to him. Dobey knew he was lying, and for the life of him, Starsky couldn’t figure out why he was insisting to Dobey that everything was alright when it was obvious to both of them that it wasn’t.

Maybe it’s because if Dobey has any doubts whatsoever, he’ll pull you off the streets until he’s satisfied you’re fit to return.

And even though he didn’t want to be on the streets, it was a better alternative to sitting home alone.

“I know what it’s like to lose a partner and a friend. I know what you’re going through,” Dobey muttered.

Did he hear him right? Dobey lost a partner, too? After two years of working for the man, he was still finding things out about him. “Cap’n?”

But Dobey wasn’t going to elaborate. He seemed to have come to a decision.

“You lost your partner today. That’s not something you can fix with a band aid.” Dobey leaned his elbows on his desk and leveled Starsky with an unequivocal look. “Starsky. You’re taking some time off. I’m issuing you five days leave.”

“Wha’?” There it was, just like he figured. Damn.

“You heard me.”

“But Captain–”

“Come back here in five days ready to work.”

“I’m ready to work right now.”

“No you’re not.”

No you’re not, his little voice agreed.

The Captain’s face was set in granite, and Starsky didn’t have the will to fight the issue. He didn’t really want to anyway. He wasn’t ready to work yet, but admitting it was a bitter pill to swallow.

Dobey was right. He hated it when Dobey was right.

The inner turmoil must have shown on his face, because Dobey’s expression softened just a bit. “Dave, go home. Get some rest.”

The two men looked at each other, both a little uncomfortable at finding themselves in this uncharted territory. Finally, Starsky nodded.

With nothing more to say, he handed the file to Dobey and walked out, closing the door behind him.

 

With things wrapped up at Metro, Hutch drove over to the Venice precinct using the excuse that he also wanted to change clothes. A brooding Starsky opted to wait in the car. His buddy seemed to be doing okay after their talk in the chapel, but when he left Dobey’s office, he was subdued. When he asked what he and Dobey had talked about, Starsky mumbled something about having to take five days off. Not sure if that was the best course of action for his buddy, Hutch wanted to make sure that he didn’t spend time alone just yet. Even though he didn’t show it, Starsky was a thinker, and Hutch was afraid he might slip back into blaming himself for what had happened to Frank if left to his own devices. So, through careful negotiation, calling in favours, and promising a few himself, Hutch managed to wangle the same five days off as Starsky for no other reason than to keep an eye on him.

With that thought foremost in his mind, Hutch casually suggested that they grab some take out and head over to his cottage, in the hopes that Starsky would stay late enough to want to crash at his place. It would make it a lot easier if Starsky didn’t suspect that he had ulterior motives. It didn’t take much persuasion on his part as Starsky quickly agreed, but only on the condition that the take out was Chinese and that they could wash it down with a couple of beers. With arms laden with several bags of Chinese food and two 6-packs, Starsky and Hutch settled in for the evening.

Starsky was nestled in the corner of the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table, listening to the sweet music from Hutch’s guitar. Obscure images floated through his mind as he lingered in that void between sleep and consciousness. He was numb. Maybe it was because of the beer and the fact that he was exhausted? The events of the day that had conspired against him were now allowing him to float off into a welcome state of oblivion. Even so, he couldn’t make that final leap because he couldn’t seem to stop thinking.

Frank was dead. He’d had a little while now to come to terms with it and accept it, though it didn’t make it any easier.

And he was alive. What was it Hutch had said to him this afternoon? If someone had to die out there today, I’m damn glad it wasn’t you, buddy. Hutch’s outburst this afternoon had shaken him out of his self-pitying thoughts and gave his mind something else to wrestle with, something he hadn’t thought of while he had been sitting alone in the chapel that afternoon. What if it had been him that had been shot this afternoon? Or Hutch? The question had taunted him, and he had shoved it aside as best he could, filling up the void with things he knew had to be done. Now, the question that demanded an answer was not going away quite so easily.

What if he were lying in a hospital bed or the morgue? How would Hutch be handling it right now? Or Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al? And what about his mom and younger brother? How would they handle it if something happened to him, if he were dead? Like he was handling it? Blaming themselves for something that they knew deep down wasn’t their fault? Getting angry and frustrated and taking it out on the people who were just trying to help them deal with a tragedy the only way they knew how?

It was the same when his father had been killed. He had blamed himself then, too, mentally working himself over until he was sure he would burn in hell for not acting fast enough to save his father. It didn’t get him very far. It just made him feel even more miserable. He had pushed everyone away because he didn’t know how to deal with the pain. Just like now. But the result stayed the same.

So why was he doing it?

He had worked over all the scenarios in his mind, what if this and what if that. And it all came back down to the bottom line: Frank was dead, and he was alive.

It didn’t make it okay, but he could live with it– he had to.

If someone had to die out there today, I’m damn glad it wasn’t you, buddy.

Hutch. His best friend was worried about him. That much was easy to tell. Every time Hutch worried he went into mother hen mode, which explained the Chinese food, the beer, and why he was still here. Hutch was probably going to suggest that he spend the night here. But it was okay, he didn’t really want to go home, and it was kinda nice having someone to take over the reins for a little while. And the only one he would trust with that job was sitting at the other end of the couch.

If someone had to die out there today, I’m damn glad it wasn’t you, buddy.

You know, Hutch? Me too.

“Starsk? You awake?” Hutch’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Starsky grunted and opened his eyes.

“I was thinking, it’s getting pretty late. Why don’t you just crash here tonight?”

Starsky smiled knowingly as he pulled himself upright and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Hutch looked inordinately pleased with himself that Starsky had agreed so readily. “What were you thinking about?

The smile grew a little. “How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

“Because you snore.”

He chuckled. “What makes you think I was thinkin’ about somethin’?”

“You had that I’m-thinking-about-something look on your face,” Hutch replied patiently.

“Oh.” No, that wasn’t it at all. Hutch just knew him that well. Sometimes they were so in tuned with each other’s thoughts it was scary. This was one of those times.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Starsky sighed. Okay, so there were times when that mind reading thing was a pain in the ass. “What was I thinkin’ about?” He propped his chin in his palm and toyed with making something up to tell his best friend, just so he wouldn’t have to go into any lengthy explanations. But he knew Hutch would know if he was lying so what was the point? If he didn’t tell him outright, Hutch would worm it out of him somehow. He was very good at that. “I was thinkin’ about life and death.”

Hutch’s fingers hesitated only slightly on the strings as the music continued to flow. “I see.”

“I was thinkin’ what if it was you that had been killed today, instead of Frank.”

Hutch was thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you would’ve had to buy your own Chinese food.”

“That’s not funny.”

“No.” The music stopped and he leaned on his guitar, fixing Starsky with worried eyes. “Starsk, why are you putting yourself through this? This isn’t like you.”

Hutch was right about that, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. After all he’d been through that day, there was something he had to get off his chest. “I just don’t like the way history is repeating itself.”

“What do you mean?”

“What it means is I lost Frank, and I lost my father.” He looked up at Hutch. “I don’t want to lose you, too.” It sounded kinda corny, especially after he said it, but it was the truth, and he wanted Hutch to know it.

“Buddy, I’m not going anywhere.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m not Frank or your father.”

That much was true. Hutch was his best friend– no, he was more than that.

“No, you’re more like my mother.” The thought was spoken out loud as a mental picture of Hutch wearing one of his mother’s house dresses popped into his head. A reluctant smile crept across his face. How do you have a serious discussion with your best friend when all you can do is picture him in a dress?

Hutch’s lips twisted slightly and he shrugged. “Well, somebody’s got to look after you.”

The two friends looked at each other, letting the meaning behind the words work it’s magic.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I will be. Thanks for looking out for me. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.

Me either, buddy, me either.

They’d said all that needed to be said… for now.

Hutch set his guitar on the floor and rolled to his feet, delivering a playful swat to Starsky’s leg. “So are you ready to call it a night?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You take the bathroom first.” A mischievous smirk tugged at his mouth. “And I’ll tuck you in after I read you a bedtime story.” He scooped up the empty beer cans and went to the kitchen.

Starsky made a face at the retreating back. Sometimes Hutch could be a little weird, but it was a good kind of weird. “Yes, Ma.” Shaking his head, he headed for the bathroom.

 

The following couple of days seemed to be endless for Starsky.

The first order was to go around to visit Mitzi and Lisa. It took everything Starsky had to look at them and not cry. He was doing pretty good until Lisa asked him where her daddy was. Looking into those innocent eyes, he crumbled and had to escape out to the front porch so that she wouldn’t see his tears. Luckily, Hutch was there to step in to take care of Lisa when Mitzi followed him out. She gathered him in her arms and they stood there together, holding each other and sobbing, letting the pain of the last 24 hours drain out of them, one tear at a time.

The next order of business was Frank’s funeral. It was an overcast day, fitting for the event that was taking place. Frank’s funeral drew law enforcement officers from all over the country. Starsky and Hutch were pall bearers as were three other officers and Frank’s brother. They marched the casket out of the church with as much stoicism as they could summon. Starsky didn’t think there were any more tears left in him until he felt the wetness on his cheeks as Amazing Grace played mournfully in the background.

Starsky opted to skip the luncheon that had been arranged to follow after the funeral. As he waited in the car, Hutch spoke briefly with Mitzi and explained that they wouldn’t be attending. She nodded and kissed him on the cheek, then stood holding Lisa’s hand, watching as he walked away.

It was about an hour later, the two men found themselves at Huggy’s restaurant. They had changed out of their uniforms into civvies and were well concealed in the back booth of the bar. They had just placed two orders for the daily special when Huggy swaggered over to their table and straddled a nearby chair.

“Gentlemen, what it is.”

“Hey Huggy,” Hutch greeted him. Starsky just nodded.

“Starsky, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your partner.”

“Thanks, Hug.”

Hutch knew that Huggy meant well, but some protective force made him want to shield Starsky from theirfriend. Maybe coming here today wasn’t such a good idea after all? Starsky was beginning to look a little rough around the edges and could probably do with a good night’s sleep rather than sitting in a downtown bar, trying to make small talk.

“Do the cops know who did it yet?”

Starsky sighed and shook his head. “No, they’re still investigating. Getting nowhere fast, if you ask me.” He couldn’t hide the frustration in his voice.

Huggy nodded thoughtfully.

“Starsk, you went through the mug books but the shooters weren’t in there,” Hutch reminded him. “You gave the investigating team more information than most witnesses. They have a solid base to start with. They’ll turn up something.”

“Yeah, sure.” Even though Starsky agreed with him, he sounded less than convinced.

“Come on, Starsk, it’s only been a couple of days.”

“Hutch, you know as well as I do that the longer an investigation goes, the colder the trail gets. They’re never going to catch these two guys. The guys who killed Frank are going to get off scot free.”

“You don’t know that.”

Starsky was about to reply when Huggy interrupted him.

“Maybe the trail ain’t so cold.”

Huggy was pinned with two icy blue stares. His eyes shifted from Starsky to Hutch and back to Starsky again. He had their complete and undivided attention.

“I mean, what if somebody knew somebody who knew somebody who knew something?”

“Go on.”

“Now it’s only a rumour, probably no truth in it what so ever.”

“Huggy?”

“Well,” he began, glancing around. “There’s this dude who knows this other dude who knows this other dude who claims to be in the know on this particular subject.”

“Who?” Both Starsky and Hutch leaned in closer.

“Now wait, fellas,” he held both hands out in a defensive gesture, hoping it would hold them off but knowing it wouldn’t.

“Huggy, if you know something…” Starsky’s voice held a subtle warning.

“Star-sky, I only just came upon this information myself this very afternoon, and now I’m passing it on to you gentlemens.”

Hutch looked at his best friend. “This could be the break we’ve been waiting for.”

“But there’s a catch.”

Both men turned to Huggy warily.

“This person doesn’t list talking to cops as his number one priority in life, you dig?”

“Huggy…” Starsky growled.

“But if this person was given a personal recommendation by a certain other person, they might be willing to be more forthcoming with their information if the right persons were to speak to him and they overlook the fact that his trade isn’t always of the legal kind.” His eyes slid from one to the other.

Starsky and Hutch exchanged loaded glances, weighing Huggy’s words.

The only way we’re going to get any information is if Huggy clears it for us.

Which means the guy won’t talk to anybody but us.

It’s not our investigation, Starsk.

I know that.

It’s against regulations.

I know that.

So what do we do?

They stared at each other for a few more seconds. Starsky looked back at Huggy. “Let’s go talk to the man.” Decision made.

Huggy disappeared to make some phone calls while Starsky and Hutch waited.

 

Three days.

Three days of investigating, three days of talking to an endless array of people, three days of tracking down information. Three days of ferreting out low-lifes, three days of paying off snitches, three days of little to no sleep.

Three days.

But they had made an arrest.

The men who shot Frank were behind bars, and Starsky had his first decent night sleep since his partner died.

He was finally able to let go.

With the report on the arrest already filed the night before, Starsky headed into work with a lot less baggage on his shoulders than he’d carried over the last couple of days. Even so, he wasn’t prepared for the little landmines that awaited him as he followed his usual routine.

His first obstacle was the locker opposite his. Seeing it empty for the first time threw him a bit. It had always been Frank’s locker, decorated with pictures of Lisa and Mitzi. Now it was just another empty space, another reminder of what had been. Starsky pushed the door shut, his hand lingering to caress the cold metal in a gesture of remembrance before he headed up to the squad room.

Things weren’t any easier there. The desk opposite his was clean and bare. No more paper storms, no more chewed pens, no more coffee stains, no more Frank. No evidence that anyone had ever sat there, worked there, been there.

He sighed.

He just wanted things to return to normal, or as normal as possible.

And thanks to Captain Dobey, he got his wish.

He was just about to pour himself a cup of coffee when he heard a familiar roar.

“Starsky! Get in here!”

The order came from Captain Dobey. News travels fast, he thought as he put the empty cup down and went into Dobey’s office.

“Close the door!”

He hooked the door with his foot without missing a step, and it shut behind him. He knew it drove Dobey nuts, but it was part of the game between them. “G’mornin’ Cap’n.”

The Captain didn’t mince his words, skipping right over the social greetings and ignoring the foot tricks. “Starsky, I should have you busted down to meter maid!”

“Cap’n?” Starsky’s brows arched into his forehead. He’d seen Dobey angry before, but this bordered on explosive. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see foam at his mouth. And granted, he had been deserving of Dobey’s wrath on more occasions than he really wanted to recall, but he didn’t think this would be one of them.

“Of all the stupid, brainless stunts you’ve ever pulled, this tops them all!”

“I’m sorry, Cap’n, but…”

“I don’t’ want to hear it!” Dobey bellowed, waving his meaty arms in the air.

What did Dobey think he was gonna hear? Starsky was trying to figure that out when there was a light rap on the door. “Come in!” Dobey roared.

Hutch’s blonde head peered around the door. His blue eyes were wide with question as he obviously had heard the yelling. “Captain Dobey? Lt. Ferguson said you wanted to see me?” Hutch had met Captain Dobey several times and was familiar with his legendary temper.

“Hutchi’son, get in here.”

Hutch slipped into the room and clicked the door shut behind him. Like Starsky, he was in uniform, but he looked nervous. Starsky guessed that he must have come over here straight after arriving for work this morning as he knew Hutch was working the same shift as he was today. The two men exchanged bewildered glances as they stood in front of Dobey’s desk.

“Now, do either of you want to explain what this is?” Dobey slammed a file in front of them and waited for an explanation.

Hutch swallowed and deferred to Starsky with raised brows. Starsky picked up the file and started to read.

“This is the arrest report on Wylie and Connors,” Starsky reported matter-of-factly.

“It says you and Hutchi’son were the arresting officers.”

“Well, yeah, we…”

“How could you be the arresting officers if you were off duty?”

“Well, we got a lead, and…”

“Went off half cocked and unarmed! You could’ve gotten your heads blown off!”

“But Cap’n…”

Dobey jumped to his feet. “I don’t want to hear it!” he yelled again, arms waving in the air. “The Chief was down here wondering what the hell is going on around here! Why two off duty cops, one not even from this precinct, were playing Batman and Robin on a case that was assigned to other officers.”

“Cap’n, it may seem that way, but…”

“But what!!” Dobey dropped back into his chair. “I should have the two of you directing traffic,” he scowled at the two men, “but you’d probably mess that up too, because you don’t know how to follow procedure! There were two detectives assigned to investigate that case! Are either one of you detectives?”

They exchanged uncomfortable glances as Starsky tossed the ball back to Hutch. Dobey didn’t seem to want to listen to him anyway; maybe Hutch would have a better shot at it.

Hutch eyed Dobey warily. “Um, no, sir.”

Good one, Hutch.

“So why in the hell didn’t you report your information to the investigating officers and stay out of it?”

“Well, w-we were going to, b-but um, we didn’t think that it would, uh, hurt just to check out the source to make sure it was, um, a valid one, Captain.”

Starsky stole a glance at his buddy. Hutch was stuttering. He didn’t trip over his words unless he was really rattled.

Dobey glared at him. “Why do you think it’s called an investigation, Hutchi’son? Because we have men to investigate! Not off duty cops who could have just as easily gotten themselves killed!”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Hutch chanced a peek at Starsky, who had snagged a pencil out of Dobey’s pencil cup and was absently twisting it in his fingers. No help there. “Nothing, sir.”

Dobey paused to take a breath, and Starsky took that opportunity to interrupt the Captain’s tirade.

“But we caught them, Cap’n. The guys that shot Frank.”

The room went silent.

Dobey slumped back in his chair and sighed heavily, looking at the two officers in front of him. That was the bottom line, wasn’t it? They had tracked down two cop killers and brought them in within a matter of days of the shooting. They had gathered the necessary evidence in order to build a case the DA could go to trial with. They had gotten results faster than the two seasoned detectives who had been assigned to the case in the first place.

And here he was chewing them out because they had acted on their own, without approval or knowledge of their superior officers or the police department. The newspapers were calling them heroes, the Chief referred to them as rogue cops, and he had been caught in the middle. Behaviour like that could undermine a department if not handled properly and with authority. And that’s what he was doing. But it was also the same thing he would’ve done– hell, he had done it. When his partner, Elmo Jackson, had been murdered, he went off half-cocked and hunted down the man responsible. He found him, but not the evidence needed to arrest him. And that had been a sore spot ever since. In Dobey’s mind, Elmo couldn’t rest in peace until the man responsible for his death was behind bars. Oh, yes, he knew what Starsky was going through. And he knew the reasons why he and Hutchinson had gone off on their own. At least they were able to make an arrest, where he hadn’t. They had brought two cop killers to justice. They should be getting citations, not discipline. He sighed heavily, the fire seeping out of him.

“I should have you both suspended. What you did was just plain stupid.” He was more civilized when he continued with, “But you got results, and I can’t overlook that. I’m recommending you both for citations.”

For the second time since they entered the office, Starsky and Hutch exchanged stunned looks. If Dobey had stood up, shed his clothes, and did a jig on the top of his desk they wouldn’t have been more surprised.

“Citations, Cap’n?”

“You did good work. I don’t agree with how you went about it, but you got results.”

“Uh, thanks, Cap’n.”

“Thanks? Thanks for what? For not having you suspended?” his volume started to rise. “And if you ever pull something like that again, I’ll have you busted down to janitors. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” they mumbled.

Assuming Dobey was finally done with them, Starsky asked, “Will that be all, Cap’n?”

“Did I say that was all?” Dobey bellowed. The two men waited expectantly in front of him, as Dobey shuffled some papers on his desk. He did that for a full 30 seconds before he stopped and looked up at Starsky. His volume had returned to normal, but his voice was gruff. “Starsky? I need to talk to you about your new partner.”

The announcement caught Starsky off guard. He’d known it was going to happen, he just hadn’t expected it so soon. Frank was not even dead a week. This was his first day back on the job. How could Dobey even think about something like that right now? He dropped the pencil back into the pencil cup and sighed. This was turning out to be some kind of day. He could feel Hutch’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look back at him. He couldn’t. They had talked about this moment and how Starsky had been dreading it. Now here it was, and he suddenly had that overwhelming desire to bolt. He took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control again.

He was lost in thought when he felt Hutch’s shoulder brush up against his and stay there, letting the warmth from the contact seep through the numbing effect of Dobey’s announcement. It was the only thing that kept him standing in front of Dobey and he was grateful for that.

What would he have done if Hutch hadn’t been here?

He cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, making sure not to break the contact with Hutch. “Cap’n, it’s only been– I mean, Frank has only been–” He foundered. Hutch.

Somehow, Hutch must have heard his silent plea for help. The shift to mother hen mode was smooth and seamless. “Captain? Maybe this can be discussed at another time?” he suggested.

“No, we’re gonna discuss it now.”

“Captain, I really don’t think–”

“Hutchi’son.” Dobey interrupted Hutch’s protest and turned back to his officer. “Starsky, Hutchi’son has been transferred to this precinct. He is your new partner.”

The two men stared speechlessly at Dobey.

The moment might have been frozen in time. Starsky and Hutchinson definitely were. Dobey’s glance slid between the two of them. He waited, amused by the scene that was beginning to unfold in front of him.

Hutchinson was the first to move. He turned towards Starsky who still had a shell shocked look on his face. Hutchinson’s hand curled around Starsky’s forearm, and Dobey wasn’t quite sure if it was to get Starsky’s attention or to keep himself from swaying.

“Starsk?”

The sound of Hutchinson’s voice brought Starsky out of his momentary stupor. They looked at each other, blue eyes meeting blue eyes as Dobey watched what appeared to be a silent conversation.

Did you hear that?

Yeah.

I can’t believe it.

Me either.

What do you think?

What do I think? I think it’s great!

Dobey grabbed their attention. “That is if you agree, Hutchi’son?”

Hutch looked at Starsky again.

What do I tell him?

Tell him “Yes”, dummy!

Hutch turned back to Dobey. “Yes.”

A pleased smile lit up Dobey’s face as he extended his hand to the blonde man, who still seemed a little stunned. “Good. Welcome aboard, Hutchi’son.”

Hutch took the Captain’s hand and shook it. “Uh, thank you, Captain.”

“Now that that’s settled, the two of you get out of my office.” He waved his arm in the direction of the door. “Get your butts down to Personnel and make sure the right forms are filled out.” He handed Hutch a form then sat back in his chair and ignored them, busying himself with files on his desk.

Dismissed, Starsky and Hutch left the office, closing the door behind them.

The second the door closed, Dobey reached for the phone and punched out a familiar number.

“Gimme Lt. Ferguson….. Mike, Dobey here….. Fine, fine. And Celeste?…. Good… Mike, I thought you should be the first to know.” He paused, knowing Ferguson wasn’t going to like what he had to say. “I’ve transferred Hutchi’son over here to work with Starsky. He’s accepted. I’ll have the paperwork sent over for your signature.” He moved the receiver away from his ear for the outburst he knew was going to come. As Ferguson let loose a string of obscenities, Dobey smiled to himself. It was going to take a little bit more than the regular dose of Harold Dobey charm to smooth this one over. But he would, because he finally had what he wanted, so the little extra effort was definitely worth it. He let Ferguson rant. He finally had Starsky and Hutchinson together.

The second the door to Dobey’s office closed, Starsky spun around and grabbed Hutch by the shoulders.

“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” Hutch chuckled.

“We’re gonna be partners!”

“Yeah, it looks like it, huh?” Hutch was still a little overwhelmed by the whole chain of events. It had all happened so fast, and he felt like he was moving in slow motion.

Starsky, on the other hand, was nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement. “Do you know what this means? We’ll be working together!”

“That’s what being partners means, Starsk,” Hutch told him dryly.

“You and me… me and thee… partners!”

“Starsky, I get it, okay?”

They left the squad room, and Starsky led the way to the Personnel office on the sixth floor. While he chattered excitedly, Hutch was pensive.

“We’ll be able to pick each other up in the morning. And we’ll be working the same shift for a change. We’ll be spending a lot more time together, having lunch together.”

That’s right. Teaming up meant they were going to spend a lot more time together, a lot more than they did already if that was possible. Was that a good thing though? At least now, they had a break from each other by working in different precincts. By becoming partners, they would be together constantly. What if they drove each other nuts by working together? What if working together ruined the friendship they had built? Being temporary room mates was one thing– working together was something totally different. Was it worth possibly losing his best friend? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea? Maybe they were better off just being friends? Maybe this was a big mistake. Maybe he should go back and tell Dobey that he’d changed his mind?

“Hey Hutch?”

Hutch hadn’t realized that while he had been performing his mental gymnastics, Starsky had stopped in the middle of the corridor, a pensive frown on his face.

“Yeah?” He stopped and waited as Starsky ambled up to him, wondering what could be so serious all of a sudden to produce the sour look.

“Can I tell ya somethin’?”

“Sure, Starsk.” Starsky was asking permission? Starsky never asked his permission before, and that included the time when he read him the entire 50th Anniversary Edition of Ripley’s Believe it or Not– well, it seemed like it was the entire book. If he had asked then, Hutch definitely would’ve nixed that one in the bud. When Starsky asked, it had to be serious.

It took a few seconds for Starsky to collect his thoughts as they faced each other, an island in the stream of people that detoured around them. “When Dobey said I was gettin’ a new partner, I didn’t know what to think. It’s only been a week, not even a week since Frank died. I didn’t think anyone could replace Frank, ya know?”

It was serious. “Yeah, I know.”

“But you’re not just anyone. You’re the only person who could replace him.” A crooked smile superseded the seriousness of the frown. “Well, it’s not really replacin’ him. It’s more like takin’ over for him, huh? And ya know? There’s no one else I’d rather be partners with.”

Ah, hell.

What about all the time they would be spending together? What about what it might mean to their friendship? What about all the other things that made him question this decision?

What should I tell him? Tell him the truth.

“There’s no one I’d rather be partners with, either, buddy.”

And Hutch realized that it was the truth.

He was rewarded with a face splitting smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Me and thee, Hutch.”

They fell into step again as they headed to the sixth floor.

Both were silent as they climbed the stairs. Starsky held the door open for his new partner when they reached the sixth floor landing, but they were side by side again as they made their way to the Personnel office. “I really thought we were deep shit when he started yelling about the arrest, didn’t you?” Starsky commented as he searched for the correct number on the many doors in the corridor.

“Yeah.”

Starsky fell silent again for a moment. “Batman and Robin. Can you believe he called us Batman and Robin?”

Batman and Robin? Hutch shook his head. He felt like a chapter had been torn out of his book. “What?”

“Dobey. He called us Batman and Robin.”

He rewound the conversation in Dobey’s office and remembered that Dobey did refer to them as Batman and Robin, but why that mattered to Starsky was a mystery? “Yeah, so?”

Starsky stopped in front of a door that declared it was the location of the Personnel Office. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell him it was Butch and Sundance, not Batman and Robin.”

Oh, for… That legendary Starsky logic was at it again. Maybe Ripley’s wasn’t so bad? At least he knew what was coming. And we’re going to be partners? He reached for the door knob. Butch and Sundance– really. He sighed. “Okay, Butch, let’s get this over with before I change my mind.”

Starsky’s hand on the door prevented him from opening it. He was eyeing him warily. “You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“No, Starsk, I’m just kidding.”

The pleased smile returned to his buddy’s face.

“Hey, Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re Butch, I’m Sundance.”

“Starsky?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

 

The End… for now.