Ch-Ch-Changes

A brief interlude in the life of S&H.

“What’s this?” Starsky picked a book up off the table.

“What?” Hutch turned from the salad he was working on. “Oh, nothing. Just something I picked up.”

“It’s not nothing,” Starsky deposited himself in a nearby chair. It’s a college coursebook. You haven’t been thinking of that again, have you?”

Hutch gave the salad a final toss and shoved it into the refrigerator. “Yeah, I guess.” He took the steaks sitting on the counter and put them in the oven. “Steaks should be done in a minute.”

“I should have known,” Starsky continued. “You’ve been awfully moody lately.”

“Yeah.” Hutch moved over to the table, switching the forks with the spoons and knives. “Do you think that possibly one day you could learn to set a table properly?”

“That is properly,” Starsky said. “For me. Seriously, Hutch, do you want to go back?”

“I don’t know.” Hutch sat down across from Starsky. “Sometimes, Starsk, I lay awake at night and think, and then I turn over and go to sleep. Other nights, I lay awake and think, and then I turn over and wonder about things until morning.”

“You could call me,” Starsky offered softly.

“I know,” Hutch answered. “I just need to get it out of my system.”

“So,” Starsky took a deep breath. “You want to go back to school. Nights or days?”

“The last time I tried nights I managed to get to exactly three classes over the whole semester.”

“I remember. We were working on that theft ring. Kept us running all over the city for weeks. What about days, then?”

Hutch shook his head. “I’d have the same problem. Let’s face it, I just don’t have the time or energy to give to both jobs.” He looked into Starsky’s face for some kind of understanding.

“Then I guess you don’t go to school.” Starsky tossed the book back on the table.

“Or I don’t go to work.” Hutch waited as Starsky absorbed the information. “I could get a different job that wasn’t as demanding of my time.”

Starsky looked at Hutch. “How serious is this?”

Hutch shrugged his shoulders. “Serious.” Hutch turned and looked at the evening sky out the window. “More and more, the pain outweighs the pleasure. The bad times aren’t made up by the good.”

“But there have been good times,” Starsky urged. “There have been places and people I wouldn’t have wanted to miss.”

“But the bad times, Starsk, the people we fail, the people we lose. Is it really worth it?”

“We used to say if we could just save one person then it was worth it. I still believe that.”

Hutch dropped his head. “So do I. It’s just that, maybe it’s time to help them in a different way. Maybe it’s time to start thinking about ourselves.”

“And law school’s the way?” Starsky asked.

“That’s what I originally headed for,” Hutch answered.

“And what you decided against because you thought you could do more good being a cop. We have done some good, Hutch.”

“Yeah, we sure have.” He smiled warmly at Starsky, then let it fade. “But don’t you feel as though the wind is blowing harder against us? Aren’t you tired of hurting all the time, or wondering who’s going to be hurt next? Couldn’t we slow down just a little?” Hutch paused. “We quit, once.”

“There are some things,” Starsky murmured, “and there are some times… what’s on your mind?”

Hutch tapped his fingers on the table. “We could ask for a transfer to a less—busy—beat. I was thinking, maybe a transfer of divisions?”

“Like juvie or something?”

“You like kids, Starsky.” Hutch smiled again.

Starsky nodded. “Yeah.” He thought for a moment. “You weren’t thinking of quitting completely, were you?” His brow furrowed.

Hutch looked back out the window. “I don’t know. The last time we went job hunting….” He let the thought trail off.

“We could open our own business.” Starsky crossed his arms across his chest. “How about a taco stand? I know a good corner.”

Hutch laughed. “Be serious, Starsky.”

“Okay,” Starsky sighed. “I know you’re not going to agree to a taco stand, and I’m not going to agree to a health food store, then we’ll have to come up with something else.” Starsky to pretended to think, then his eyes lit up mischievously. “I know! The private eye business!”

“I knew you were going to suggest that,” Hutch muttered. “Starsky, you do realize that private detectives spend most of their time sitting in libraries and record rooms looking for information. Is that really what you want to do? Sit in a room all day?”

“That’s okay,” Starsky was actually warming up to the idea. “You’d have to be in the library anyway. That would leave me free to to question all those beautiful dilettantes.”

“’Debutantes’, Starsk. And as far as that goes,” Hutch’s tone softened, “what happens after I get my degree and pass the bar?”

“No big deal,” Starsky uncrossed his arms and planted his hands on his thighs. “You’ll be the genius lawyer and I’ll be the tough-but-loveable investigator who’s the real brains behind the outfit. Perry Mason and Della Whatshername.”

Hutch let himself laugh as he hadn’t in quite a while. “Paul Drake. Perry Mason and Paul Drake. Della was his secretary.”

“Whatever,” Starsky sniffed. A bell on the stove went off. Hutch got up and removed the steaks from the broiler. Starsky was right behind him.

“They’re bleeding!” Starsky moaned.

“They’re rare,” Hutch corrected.

“You know I like my food dead when I eat it. So just put mine back in there and let it get crusty. I want to eat my salad first anyway.” Starsky took the salad from the refrigerator and carried it to the table.

“Have it your way.” Hutch shoved one of the steaks back into the oven. “This may be the last steak we can afford it we opt for the life of poor but idealistic gumshoes.” He looked over at Starsky for a response, but Starsky was engrossed in his salad. “But why worry about that till it’s time,” he said to himself. He moved his steak to a plate and carried it to the table.