Table of Contents
Authors note: I’m an absolute nut for classic lit and also for these wonderful detectives, so I decided I’d see what would happen if I snagged a page from Goethe and Tolstoy and dropped Starsky and Hutch into the mix. A touch of the supernatural, a dash of good vs. evil…Not necessarily a story for young kids because of mature themes and some implied violence. Thanks for reading and I hope you have fun. This is my first S&H story ever!
Part One
“What is it now, Mephistopheles?” The regal tone could never sound weary but there was a touch of wry humor.
“My master wants to pursue a small wager. He’s still rather sulky over Faust…and I mean, really, what an inappropriate trick by the Heavenly Hosts to steal him out from under us when we’d won his soul per our little arrangement.”
“Redemption comes in many forms, Mephistopheles. You should have learned that by now. Who is it this time? I assure you we are equal to any challenge—”
“Kenneth Hutchinson.”
“Oh, really?” The archangel sat back and folded elegant hands together. “I seem to recall your master having no success in his attempt to break Hutchinson’s partner last year. What makes him think he’ll have more luck with the fair-haired one?”
Mephistopheles shuffled his feet nervously. Really, couldn’t he merit some other form of work? He’d ended up looking a royal ass after the mess with Faust, failed miserably with David Starsky, and here he was again hat in hand, so to speak, pleading for his master’s pleasure. “He…um…er… well, in actuality he did not count on David’s innate goodness, his inner joy. You cannot toy with a man who has that wellspring of joy. Hutchinson is a different matter. He gets care-worn, downtrodden, guilt-ridden. There is much room for chiseling away at the soul of a man like Hutchinson.”
“Come now, Mephisto. I may not be omniscient like the Creator, but I do know your real game. Hutchinson is just the beginning. You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? Your master doesn’t have the patience to think it through, but you did, and you’ve convinced him. You break Hutchinson and you’ll have destroyed David too, thereby saving face in the wake of your prior defeat. Your timing is off, you should know. Hutchinson is not the same person he was before your botched attempt with David. He’s stronger, happier.”
“We’ll figure something out.”
The archangel sighed, grew silent, and was enveloped in radiance. When the light dispersed, the angel said calmly. “No. I have your answer. We’ll do the work for you.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes. We’ll test him for you. You can just sit back and reap the reward if he fails.”
Mephistopheles narrowed his eyes. “You mean like Job?”
“Ah, child’s play. Hutchinson can take great personal suffering. No, we have something entirely different in mind.”
“Well, my master would like to get in one shot at him. There’s this woman…”
“In the name of all that’s holy, Mephisto, couldn’t you be a little more original? With Hutchinson there usually is… All right. We’ll divide the labor. We shall show Detective Hutchinson one path in life and you may show him another. We’ll see which he chooses.”
~~~~~~~~~~
The sound clawed its way through an unusually pleasant dream and the blond shifted restlessly, tangling himself almost inextricably in the white cotton sheets. A moment later a large hand rose from somewhere beneath his torso and waved frantically as though to shoo away the intruding noise. No such luck. Two minutes later one eye resembling a shining blue topaz in the eerie half-light of the apartment blinked open and a well-fashioned ear practically rose an inch on the side of the sweat-slick face. “Wha’?” He demanded of no one in particular and tried to vacate the bed. The sheets won the battle decisively and Ken Hutchinson found himself head over tail on the floor. “Damn!” he muttered. Tonight he really, really needed sleep. The sound reverberated through the room and Hutch lost no time scrambling to his feet. Somewhere in the near vicinity of his bed, someone was being flayed alive. That was the only explanation. He collected his gun from its normal home in his shoulder harness and checked the chamber, readying himself for anything. Then he waited, frozen in the stillness like a nouveau-art statue, until the noise assaulted his ears once more. His body shifted into hunter mode and he crept with practiced stealth through the darkness, homing in on the origin of the sound. The greenhouse. What the–?!
He edged his way cautiously into the habitat of his various leafy species and bit back a cry of surprise when he found nothing immediately amiss. That is, until he lowered his eyes and dropped to his knees in front of a small cardboard box filled with… Kittens!? One smoky-gray ball of fur slung open its tiny mouth and shrieked to high heaven. Hutch released his gun almost in afterthought and extended a wary, trembling hand into the vibrating mass of fur, tails, and paws, instinctively groping for the one kitten disturbed enough to pry him out of a dead sleep. The anxious creature stretched luxuriantly in the warmth of his palm and the yowls decreased by a decibel. Hutch felt the ghost of a smile toying with his lips but it faded when he spotted the note. Perched in the corner of the box, it read simply, “No creature’s hunger should ever be ignored, Blintz.”
Hutch fell backwards onto his heels and the kitten’s abrupt release drew another blood-curdling mew from the tormented animal. Hutch failed to notice. His dull, sleep-deprived brain tried to reason through the fog of sudden, violent suspicion. He was at his phone in one stride and dialing a familiar number.
“Star–rr–shky…”
“David Michael Starsky, I swear if this is your idea of a hilarious practical joke, I’ll—”
“Hu-utch?”
“Get over here.”
“Hutch, it’s… 3…o’clock in th’mornin’….”
“Get. Over. Here. Now.”
“Okay. Jeesh. Keep yer pants on. I’ll…be there in twenty.”
Hutch slammed the phone receiver down in its cradle and slumped onto the couch dragging a hand over his eyes, nose, mustache, and lips. Why? Of all the harebrained, stupid stunts. Blindfolding him and letting him fall down a damn flight of stairs couldn’t be termed an intelligent, productive use of humor. But this…! And Starsky better…better not pull that innocent-I’ve-come-back-from-the-dead-a-reformed-man act. Because he’d kill him, Hutch vowed. He’d good and thoroughly wipe the floor with the blue-jeaned, starry-eyed, smirking little… No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, Hutch corrected himself wearily. He’d take one look at Starsky, breathe the 10,000th sigh of relief since last May that his best friend still lived to play practical jokes on him, and then they’d crack up together over the mewling kittens. Murderous crying commenced in the greenhouse. Hutch rolled his eyes heavenward but thought better of the obscenity hovering on the tip of his tongue. He stretched himself to his full height, sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, repeating soothing words as he lumbered into the new home of at least six kittens. He’d been unable to establish the precise number with them sleeping all over each other like the feline version of a hippie commune at Woodstock.
Hutch knelt by the box again and paused before his hands made it halfway to their destination. This is ridiculous! Which one is responsible for the Alfred Hitchcock noise? Seven tiny heads greeted him with open mouths. Hungry…they really are hungry. Where the everloving hell is the mother? Obviously not here, stupid. Hutch berated his lethargic brain just as a pounding on his door interrupted his reverie. Had twenty minutes passed? Hutch abandoned the kittens for the door.
Starsky had thrown on an old long-sleeved jersey and his around-the-house pair of jeans, but had opted for a brand new expression. Sheer, blatant astonishment mixed with concern and seasoned with a touch of annoyance. Starsky could act. Hutch had no doubt he’d successfully played Camille once upon a time. But this facial display was beyond reproach and stunningly genuine. “You okay, Hutch? I figured I’d better not just let myself in. What’s going on, huh?”
Hutch sighed deeply. “You really don’t know, do you? Sorry I had to drag you all the way over here to convince myself.” He backed away from the door and Starsky prowled in throwing curious glances around like sonar buoys. Hutch turned to face the greenhouse, wondering just how guilty he’d let himself feel that he’d summoned a slumbering Starsky over at this time of night. Sure, Starsky was back on active duty and left more with bad memories of the Gunther hit than lingering physical disabilities, but still…the human body does its best healing while asleep. The kittens chose that precise moment to vocalize and Starsky lunged at Hutch, clamping onto his shoulders and practically coating the blond’s back with his startled body.
“What the hell’s–”
“That,” Hutch said, calmly extricating himself from Starsky’s terror grip, “is why I called you.”
“No kiddin’?” Starsky must have assumed by Hutch’s collected demeanor that the apartment was in no immediate danger of being attacked by bloodsucking, howling aliens because his entire form relaxed slowly and he swaggered behind Hutch into the greenhouse. The kittens had given up on prompt service and were now trying to climb their way out of the cardboard box. Starsky just stopped and stared.
“Thought you weren’t too fond of cats, Blondie?”
“I believe I said I could take ‘em or leave ‘em, Starsky. I’m not too fond of having seven orphan kittens dropped off inside my apartment…the usual doorstep approach wasn’t sufficient, apparently.”
“And you thought I–”
“Take a look at the note.”
Starsky bent and investigated the contents of the box thoroughly despite the frantic gyrations of its inhabitants. “Blintz, huh?”
“Exactly. Who else christened me that? You have a spare key of your own; you move like a cat–” At Starsky’s expressive snort, Hutch swallowed and cleared his throat. “Okay, poor choice of words. But the point remains that you were the most obvious choice.”
“Where would I scrape up seven cats, Hutch?”
Hutch waved his hands in frustration, “Starsky, with you anything’s possible.” He sighed. “I suppose I’d better feed them.” He turned and headed for the kitchen, Starsky shuffling along behind him.
“What about that girl you’ve been seeing… Lenore?”
“Nope. Not her style. Besides, we…uh…broke it off.” He heard silence in the background and swiveled to find Starsky regarding him thoughtfully with a set to his jaw that reminded Hutch of… “No, buddy, she’s no Diana Harmon.” Starsky looked unconvinced. “Look, the Bay City cop gave way to a stunning job promotion in San Francisco. When I said the SFPD wasn’t my cup of tea, we parted ways amiably. No, scratch her off the list.” Hutch plodded through the kitchen rubbing his weary eyes and mumbling something about an eye-dropper.
“Your eyes hurt?” Starsky inquired solicitously.
“No, dummy, for the kittens.”
“Wha’?”
“They’re hungry. Can’t you tell? You read the note.”
“And their being hungry and an eye-dropper have exactly what to do with each other?”
“To feed them with, Starsk.”
“What about a good ol’ bowl and some milk?”
Hutch stopped his frantic searching and pivoted, hands on hips. “Because,” he explained with infinite patience, “I don’t know if they’ve been weaned yet.”
“Ya lost me again.”
“Weaned, from their mother. They may have still been nursing. I don’t know a damn thing about infant cats. They may not be old enough to lap milk out of a bowl.”
“Well, ya obviously know more than I do if you’re lookin’ for an eye-dropper at 3:30 in the mornin’ to feed them. Wouldn’t a baby bottle be better?”
Hutch laughed out loud. “Yes, and why exactly would I just happen to have a baby bottle lying around?”
“Oh. Yeah. ‘M still asleep.” Starsky flushed and scratched through his curls and stretched, arching his back. Hutch continued mumbling about spare eye-droppers he kept for distributing liquid plant food to his African violets. Starsky decided to speed up the process by locating the milk and sniffing it suspiciously. “S’pose we better see about getting the box and note dusted…”
Hutch whirled, “Are you insane?!”
Starsky just about dropped the milk at the sound of panic in his partner’s voice. “Hutch,” he said quietly, “some person or persons unknown broke into your apartment in the middle of the night–”
“And dropped off a passel of kittens!” Hutch slammed a cabinet shut and produced not one but three eye-droppers. “Here we are.”
“Hutch, how did they get in?”
But Hutch was already en route to the greenhouse. “Don’t know. Had my key in with me and the door locked.”
“Right. And the door didn’t look forced open to me. So someone managed access to your apartment without your knowledge and we can’t even figure out how. Don’t you at least wanna know who?”
“Starsky, do you realize what life will be like for me at the station when it gets around that some joker is stalking me with kittens?” Hutch quickly filled all three droppers with milk and handed one to Starsky.
His dark-haired partner sighed audibly and tried to extract a kitten from the box while watching the interesting motions of Hutch juggling both droppers and attempting to scoop two kittens into his lap. “Yeah, this time it’s kittens. We’re cops, Hutch. What if it had been some kind of incendiary device insteada box full of big-mouthed fur balls?”
“This isn’t like you, Starsk. You’re blowing this thing way out of proportion. It’s someone’s idea of a practical joke—probably even one of the guys in the department. We’ll find out soon enough when someone starts meowing every time I walk by.”
Starsky relinquished his kitten and snatched another one. “Ain’t like you to be so nonchalant about someone breakin’ in. Sure you won’t do something about it?”
“I’m sure. Oh, I’ll do something all right. Tomorrow the whole litter goes to the animal shelter where someone can give them adequate care.”
Starsky’s grip on the kitten tightened involuntarily and he received an insulted howl. “Aw, Hutch, you can’t take ‘em there. They’ll end up glue, for Chris’sakes.”
“Ow! Watch it, they do have teeth. Starsky, you’re thinking about horses.”
Deep blue eyes rolled and sneered at Hutch simultaneously, “Whatever. You know what I mean. Hey, I know! Minnie.”
Hutch sat back and allowed the contented kittens to latch onto the waistband of his pajama bottoms. “Minnie?”
“Yeah, you know, Minnie. Sweet little lady works in Records…”
“Of course, I know Minnie, idiot. I’ve only worked in the same building with her for how many years? Just tell me what she has to do with our current conversation.” Hutch separated his torso’s bare skin from the tiny claws of the curious felines in his lap and returned the writhing animals to their siblings in the box.
“Minnie loves animals. She’s all the time adoptin’ some poor lost creature or findin’ a home for some friend’s unwanted puppies. We can drop ‘em by her place early on our way into Metro.”
Hutch felt torn. It would be nice to have an immediate solution to the sudden population spike in his apartment, but still… “Starsky, I know Minnie thinks you single-handedly created Mt. Olympus, Rome, and Paris in the space of a day, but do you really want to complicate her life with seven stray cats? Minnie works too, you know. How’s she going to manage?”
Starsky’s face expressed his disappointment in Hutch’s failure to grasp the beauty of his plan. “Aw, Hutch, you know Minnie. She’s great about arranging things. Why don’t you go on back to bed? I’ll crash on the couch. I still have a clean set of clothes over here, right?”
“Yeah…think so. Fine. I’ll go to bed. Tomorrow we’ll swing by Minnie’s place. But Starsk, I swear on everything I’ve ever held sacred that if one word of this gets around the squad room, I’ll—” Hutch couldn’t think of anything sufficiently dire on the spur of the moment so he let his extended index finger dangle threateningly in mid-air while his icy blue eyes spoke volumes. Starsky swallowed hard, nodded, and gathered up the eye-droppers.
~~~~~~~~~~
Minnie invited them in for coffee and beamed at Starsky’s revised story of how Hutch had “stumbled onto the kittens and decided they needed good homes.” By the time Minnie ushered them out the door waving away their thanks for an impromptu breakfast with the graciousness of a true hostess, she had named all but two of the frisky cats. Hutch sank down in the passenger seat of the Torino and regarded Starsky with abject incredulity.
“What’s eatin’ you, Blondie? We’ve solved your problem, had a balanced breakfast that even you can’t complain about, and are still gonna be on time for work.” Starsky maneuvered the Torino expertly into traffic and flashed a grin at his partner while adjusting his shades. Hutch shook his head and groaned.
“I know, God help her, one day she’ll find the capability of refusing you something.”
“Nope,” Starsky lounged back and flattened his palm against the steering wheel. “There is no expiration date on the Starsky charm. In fact, I think it improves with age… like fine wine.”
Hutch snorted. “Or cheese, of which I’ve always said you’re full to the brim.”
Starsky sighed, “Yeah, well, I’m used to getting no thanks outta you, pal. So, what’s on our agenda? Log us in.”
Hutch confiscated the mic, “Zebra-3. Log us in.”
“Roger, Zebra-3. You are logged in as available.”
“The pawn shop murder’s still at the top of our list. Should probably head into the station and see if Corey has released the official findings from the autopsy.”
“Terrific. A chance for Dobey to yell at us before we hit the streets. Good morning to you too.” But Starsky’s smile indicated his true feelings on seeing his superior officer. Hutch grinned.
“Get over it, Starsky. You know the man has to practically sit himself on a tack to work up a good yell at you after your ‘extended leave’ as he refers to it. He has, however, no difficulty drumming up a few extra decibels to throw at yours truly. Not that I’m eager to try your method of getting on his good side.”
“Admit it, Hutch. Dobey’s just realized after all these years who has the most talent in this partnership—”
“Zebra-3.”
Hutch quirked an eyebrow and snagged the mic. “Zebra-3 here.”
“Zebra-3, see the man named Cantrell at Lolita’s Thrift Shop. 110 7th Street. Cross-street Ames.”
“10-4, dispatch. We’re on our way.”
“Cantrell. Can—trell.” Starsky drug the syllables out in an exploratory fashion, tilting his head to the side. “Oliver Cantrell?”
Hutch snapped his fingers. “It’d be nice, buddy. Remember Oliver Cantrell’s favorite line of work?”
“Yeah. Knocking over pawn shops. Hey…” Starsky’s eyes glimmered. “Think Oliver’s back up to his old tricks after bein’ outta prison just a month or two?”
“Maybe, but I don’t think he’s the trigger finger, Starsk. His most violent act was kicking the guard dog in one of the shops. And from the looks of the dog I think that was only to protect himself from dismemberment.”
“People do graduate. Maybe he did and he’s gettin’ an attack of conscience.”
“Nice air-tight case, signed confession, etc. You must still be asleep and dreaming.” Hutch shifted in the seat and closed his eyes. Wish I was still asleep and dreaming…I really did need the sleep last night. That last conversation with Lenore took more out of me than I thought…
~~~~~~~~~~
“You’re a good cop, Ken. You could be a good cop anywhere. Why not give San Francisco a whirl?” Her face, beautiful and ethereal in the soft moonlight, long ash-blonde hair curling around her shoulders like a stole of the finest mink. Her eyes, jade, pleading, seducing…
“I like my life here, Lenore. It’s like old times again with Starsky just getting back to active duty. I feel better about my job than I have since the first year out of the Academy. I don’t want to disrupt that.”
“But why the inner-city, Ken? Surely you realize you won’t develop any sort of stability in your personal life maintaining your kind of erratic, dangerous career. What about settling down…slowing down? I think we have a chance to build something really special.”
“I thought so too, Lenore, but I’m sorry. I’m where I need to be. I know that.”
“How? Give me one reason. And don’t say Starsky because I know how you feel about him, and I can handle that. I just have the feeling that if Starsky didn’t even exist, you’d still be out on the pavement, running down dirty alleys, facing thugs and pushers. Why? There are nicer, safer communities that need law enforcement too.”
Hutch sighed wearily and avoided her eyes while he tried to put into words his core philosophy on that subject. Nothing came to mind that made sense. Then a voice from his distant past whispered in his ear and he looked squarely at his lover. “Lenore, my grandmother was a very religious woman. I admit not much of her faith rubbed off on me, but I do remember her telling me when I was a kid that religion is really about being there for people who may not be liked, may not be understood, but who need help the most. People in your rich, suburban communities can always find people to protect them, stand up for them. They can pay for allies if they have to. But the people on my beat…more often than not no one cares if they live or die. Starsky and I do. So I’m right where I want to be…I forgot that for awhile before Starsky was…shot…but I’ve gotten a second chance to live it again, and I’m not giving it up.”
“I just hope it’s worth what you’re sacrificing, Ken. I’ve got a good life waiting for me in San Francisco. I won’t sit around here and watch you get killed for people who probably care as little for you as most people do about them. I’m sorry.”
Hutch stood on the curb in front of Venice Place and watched her trendy compact car pull away. He slapped his hands against his sides and cursed himself soundly. Why the hell did I have to bring religion into the equation? One too many twelve-hour stakeouts recently and I start hearing Grandmother’s voice and preaching sermons! As Starsky would say, terrific! God, I need sleep tonight.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Hutch? He-ell-ooo… are you unconscious over there or just ignorin’ me?”
“Huh… Oh. Jeez. Way too little sleep. We there?”
“Uh, yeah. Move your lazy, blond butt. I don’t want Cantrell gettin’ itchy.”
Cantrell prowled around the back of the thrift store flipping through the pages of a worn-out magazine and cursing by turn. Starsky and Hutch spared a few seconds for polite conversation with Lolita, a forty-something redhead with youthful features and an infectious laugh only a little less famous than her soft spot for the young man with a hunched back and nervous tic pacing her back room.
“Cantrell? You in need of a friendly chat or is this more than a social call?” Starsky plopped down with feline grace backward in a chair and cradled the back of the chair against his chest. Hutch stood to the side and tried to smother a yawn.
“Yeah, man, I got somethin’ for you guys about that pawn shop job but you gotta help me get outta sight.”
Starsky hooted and looked back over his shoulder at Hutch. “Hear that, Blintz? We just gotta help him.” He turned back around. “Cantrell, with your past record, do you really think we’re gonna shell out dough to someone who might well be in on the–”
“Can it, Starsky, you know me better’n that. Would I call you geeks in here if I’d been part of the action? ‘Sides, I got an alibi for that night. Real solid, man. Solid.”
“Yeah, what might that be, Cantrell? Doing the midnight tango with Marsha at The Purple Riot?”
“Hutchinson, you’re a real belly-laugh. How about my ma dying in the hospital? That good enough for you? I was there with her when they took the…breathin’ thingy off her. Sat by her bed for three hours. You can check on that.”
Starsky and Hutch exchanged shaken glances. Hutch cleared his throat, looked away for a minute, and then nodded solemnly at Starsky, who gestured for Cantrell to take a seat in one of the other rickety chairs. “All right, Cantrell. We’re sorry about your ma. Here’s what’ll go down. We’ll listen to what you have to say and then we’ll check on your information. If your alibi’s tight, we’ll swing back by here and help you find a safe place to lay low. Deal?”
Cantrell shuffled his feet, tilted the chair back on two legs, muttered a few half-hearted oaths, and then rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, I guess so. Look, you guys played right by me when I got sent up for assisting those two robberies. I’m out now because you stuck by your deal and I got to be with my ma at the end. I owe you one, see? Anyway, I think you’re wantin’ a dude named Barry West. I got to know him in the joint. I don’t know how he managed to fool the parole people and all, but he got himself released about two weeks ‘fore I hit the streets again. He’s a bad ass, lemme tell you. Gets off on hurting people. He blabbed a lot in the joint about what jobs he was planning soon as he saw the sun again. This pawn shop thing rings a bell.”
“Care to describe this shining example of humanity?” Hutch asked wryly.
“Big guy. I mean…large! The kind that could make up half the Turbos’ defensive line. Brown GI haircut, dark eyes, scar on the left side of his forehead, pale skin. Good enough?”
“You could do this for a living, Cantrell,” Starsky said with just the faintest hint of irony. “Any ideas on where Mr. Defensive Back hangs out?”
Cantrell sighed. “That I don’t know. You’re the detectives. Now that you know what he looks like and you got a name, go find ‘im.”
Hutch tapped Starsky on the shoulder and as his partner rose to his feet, Hutch arrested Cantrell’s attention with a stern look. “You stay put and out of sight until we can check out your story and get back to you. You’re on the honor system, pal. You jerk us around and disappear, we’ll track you down and we’ll be in a bad mood. Got it?”
“Yeah, like I’m gonna go out on the street and wave a flag around. Sheesh.”
Half an hour later Hutch closed the file containing the ME’s report and glanced up at Starsky, who doodled on a sheet of paper while waiting for someone at County General to handle his request for information regarding Mrs. Dana Cantrell. Starsky felt Hutch’s eyes on him and looked up, frowning slightly. “Is it just me or did Huggy act scared the minute we mentioned Barry West?”
“He certainly didn’t act his fearless, ever-informed, always-curious self. But he wasn’t hedging either. He can’t tell us what he doesn’t know. So we wait for the parole officer to get back to us.”
Starsky dangled the phone receiver in frustration and took another gulp of coffee. “Hello?—Hello? Yes, I’ve been on hold for five minutes. Look, I’m Detective Sergeant Starsky and I need—All right. No, that’s okay. Yes… I’ll wait.”
Hutch grinned and was about to duck his head back into the file he just closed when he noted the entrance of a middle-aged man, very much worse for the wear and clothed in tattered rags, barefoot except for a viciously twisted right leg bandaged from instep to mid-calf. He stood just in the door of the squad room, casting nervous glances around before he finally said quietly, “Detective Hutchinson?”
That got everyone’s attention. Starsky turned from his phone call and looked the man over before questioning Hutch with his eyes. Hutch gave a barely perceptible shrug as an answer and approached the man. “I’m Detective Hutchinson, can I help you?”
“When I woke from my nap over by the dumpsters on Washington, I found this note pinned to my jacket. Thought it was worth a shot. Kinda desperate you know.”
Hutch felt something in his chest twist into a knot as he took in the parched, chapped lips of the man in front of him. He removed the note from visibly shaking hands and recognized the same paper, same handwriting as the note that had accompanied the kittens. “Like his partner, Detective Ken Hutchinson has a good heart. Seek his help. He will not let you down.”
“I asked around ‘till I found out who you were and where to find you. I’m—I’m sorry if I—shouldn’t ha-have come.”
“No, no that’s all right. Look, we’re waiting on some vital information, so I can’t leave the station right this minute, but why don’t we go down to the cafeteria and you can tell me about it.” Hutch looked behind him to make sure Starsky caught that and would know where to find him if necessary. Starsky smiled and waved a hand before returning his glare to the phone.
Once settled at a table in the cafeteria, the older man joyfully gulping down the first of three different kinds of fruit juice and contemplating the sandwich, soup, and salad before him like a royal feast, Hutch finally allowed himself a bite of whole-grain muffin. “What’s your name?”
“Robert. Robert Whitaker. Ahh, man was I thirsty! I-I’m not us-used to bein’ a bum.” He bit off a good half of the sandwich, chewed ravenously, and slurped up a swallow of soup. “I h-had a job. Lived in a one-room over on Benton Street. But two weeks ago I got laid off and then a section of my apartment building collapsed. I was one of the lucky ones. Some didn’t make it out at all. Still, I got my leg all bummed up and won’t ever be able to use it right again. I—I just want another job. Get back on my own feet again…you know?” Most of the soup was gone and not a crumb left of the sandwich. Robert delved into the salad with one hand, wrestling with the second fruit juice bottle with the other.
Hutch felt a pressure on his shoulder as Starsky slid into a chair beside him. Hutch introduced their guest. Starsky grinned broadly and extended a hand to shake the one Whitaker held out, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Whitaker. I’m Dave Starsky. Any friend of Hutch’s is a friend of mine.” He shifted slightly, all business again. “Hutch, we got an address on West from his PO and Cantrell’s other info checks out. Think we better be makin’ tracks?”
Hutch nodded quickly, “Sure, give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
Starsky stood up, dug in his pocket, and produced a candy bar, dropping it onto Whitaker’s tray. “You know, Hutch here never thinks about dessert. You gotta have dessert.” He gave Whitaker one more blinding smile, slapped Hutch on the back, and left the room. Whitaker rolled the candy bar around in his hand before unwrapping it.
“That your partner?”
“Yes. For eight years now.”
“He’s really nice.”
“He’s the best.” Hutch said fondly, looking back over his shoulder at the doorway through which Starsky had disappeared. He turned back. “Look, I’m sorry I have to run. But I know someone who can help you. His name’s Gene Sampson and he owns a little diner over on the corner of 8th and Trenton. He’ll find something for you to do and a place to bunk until you can locate a real job that you can manage with your…your injury.”
“8th and Trenton. Yeah, I know where that is.”
Hutch fished about for his wallet. “Here. You certainly don’t need to do any walking. This should take care of cab fare and…” he produced a few more bills. “This should keep you in food and fruit juice until Gene can get you set up.”
“Y—you don’t have to…I did-didn’t come lookin’ for a hand-out.”
“Call it an investment.”
“How about I call it a loan?”
Hutch sighed. Homeless, hungry, thirsty, but still possessing dignity and pride. “Call it whatever you need to, Mr. Whitaker–”
“Robert.”
“Well, Robert, you know where to find me if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Detective Hutchin–”
“Hutch.”
Robert smiled. “Hutch. Tell your partner he has great taste in candy bars.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“Do I warrant an explanation or am I just your chauffeur?” Starsky shifted lanes on sheer reflex, utilizing his talent so he could rake his eyes over his partner’s slumped form, bowed head, and dazed expression.
“When I’ve decided what I believe, I’ll let you in on it.”
“Oh, come on, Hutch. Bounce it off me now. Who was that guy?”
“Robert Whitaker.”
“Yeah, I’m not deaf. I heard your introduction the first time. But who is he?”
“I don’t know. Some poor guy who’s fallen on hard times, lost his job, involved in an apartment building collapse. Now he’s living on the streets. Woke up on the street today with a note pinned to his clothes telling him to find me and ask me for help.”
“Note, huh?” No one could ever accuse David Starsky of having poor instincts. “Déjà vu? Meow.”
“Don’t even start on me, Starsky,” Hutch cautioned. “I know what you’re thinking. When I’ve digested it, I’ll let you know what I want to do about–”
“Hutch, I just think—”
“Look, all my cop instincts tell me to get to the bottom of it pronto! But something else is tugging on me to just let it alone. Right now all I want to do is concentrate on tracking this West character down before he has a chance to hurt anyone else—assuming he was even responsible for Tito Warren’s death: blood matching West’s type and brown hairs under Tito’s fingernails aren’t exactly conclusive. And then we’ve got to deal fair with Cantrell. We worry about those things first.”
“Sure, Hutch, you’re the one with some benevolent stalker doling out assignments for you. If you can handle it, I can handle it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch climbed the steps to his apartment and thought that his couch might be the most beautiful thing he’d seen all day. He barely let the door close behind him before he sank onto the softness of the cushions and buried his face in his arms. He’d refused Starsky’s offer of pizza, beer, and monster movies, knowing that the curly-haired mother hen just wanted to ease him through the transition from Lenore to being alone again. A night of watching Starsky get sillier as the clock progressed and the beer diminished did sound appealing, but Hutch knew what he needed most was uninterrupted sleep. Their day had been frustrating and oddly tiring. Just as they suspected, West was not keeping in touch with his PO and the address produced nothing but empty liquor bottles, old newspapers, and a refrigerator that would have to be condemned. They’d bustled Cantrell into a bus with some pocket change and a destination that would leave him available if they needed further assistance. Huggy had not been able to detect a whisper about West’s whereabouts and seemed less than inclined to discuss the subject. Dobey demanded results and grumbled about Hutch’s weary demeanor. By the time Starsky dropped his half-dozing partner off at Venice Place, Hutch decided that he’d never make it to his bed before passing out.
Some few hours later Hutch’s right eye blinked open and the back of his mind registered the sound of torrential rain. He shifted uncomfortably, cursed his back, and thought more fondly of making the trek to his bed. Just as he hauled himself to an upright position a loud thump against his door startled him. “Starsky?” He called loudly. Silence. “Starsky, you have your own key, dammit, use it!” Nothing. Hutch groaned. “No rest for the weary.” Feeling trapped in a memory of the night before, Hutch drew his gun and moved cautiously to the door. He placed an ear against the wood and said, “Someone there?”
“Help.”
Hutch barely heard the word but his instincts clicked in and he opened the door a crack until he caught sight of the huddled, quivering figure responsible. He hastily sheathed his gun and opened the door carefully, bending down to help the drowned soul to her feet. She was scantily dressed, drenched, and weighed all of ninety pounds, he guessed, as he swung her into his arms and carried her inside. He deposited her on the couch and went in immediate search of clothes, blankets, and towels. Even in May a drenching rainstorm can produce violent chills. He returned with one of his jogging suits and handed it to her along with the towels. “Here, the bathroom is right over there. Dry off and put on these warm clothes. They’ll swallow you, but they’ll warm you up. Then come back over here and curl up in the blankets while I put some warm food together. Okay? Can you walk on your own?”
The girl nodded, eyes the size of jumbo almonds and just as golden. She clutched the clothes and towels and vanished without a word. When she reclaimed her position on the couch, buried beneath several blankets, she looked drier but no less terrified. Hutch turned from his activities at the stove and smiled at her. “Feel better?”
“Y-yes.”
Hutch tarried a few moments at the stove in order to give her enough time to compose herself and the soup a chance to boil. As soon as the tomato broth bubbled, he flicked the dial to the off position, and poured the concoction into a large mug. The girl accepted the mug and spoon with another trembling nod and did not take her eyes off his face as he sat down on the other end of the couch.
“Y-you mu-must be K-Ken.”
Hutch smiled. “Yes. Eat your soup. Then we’ll talk.”
She complied, hurriedly and without a hint of enjoyment. But her eyes flashed gratitude at him when she set the mug down on the coffee table. “Y-you do-don’t even know me.”
“No-o,” Hutch agreed. “But I’m sure you’ll tell me who you are and how you came to fall down outside my door.”
“My name’s Lila. I—I work for Big Louie.”
Hutch flipped through the various names in his memory bank and felt a grimace pull on his mouth. Big Louie. Suspected drug dealer, pimp, and overall less than savory specimen. Slick as grease and chased unsuccessfully by both Vice and Narco. So she must be a hooker. “What brings you here in the middle of a rainstorm? How do you know my name, where I live?”
“I—I left h-him. He—he’s got some new clients w-who want their girls to shoot up w-with them before they get down to business. I—I don’t do d-drugs. I w-won’t.”
Hutch felt an ice floe pass through his heart, break into tiny fragments, and turn his blood cold. He was transported several years into the past and an upper room over a bar. Pain, sweat, vomit, sour-tasting candy bars, overheated coffee, shaking, chills, anger, need, slavery… He realized suddenly that Lila stared at him. He forced a smile. “You did the right thing. And now you’re running. I imagine Big Louie was less than thrilled with your departure.”
“He threatened to kill me if I left. B-but he went t-to this p-party and I took a ch-chance. I was going through my purse t-to see if I had enough money for a bus ticket and I found this…” She reached behind her and pulled forth the said purse, delving into it. She extracted a piece of paper that was all too familiar to Hutch. He took it, his hand shaking slightly. “Ken will not treat you like a stranger.” His address was written in the same neat script beneath the message. “I figured one of the other girls must have known I was getting ready to run away and… are—you—are you a client?”
Hutch flushed, heart pounding. The girl before him with her honey-brown hair and elegant, youthful features could have been Gillian as a teenager, years before she walked into his life and died out of it just as quickly. “No, honey, I’m a cop.”
Lila jumped to her feet, hopelessly tangled in the blankets, and Hutch had to lean over and steady her to keep both her and the coffee table separate and intact. He lowered her back onto the couch with murmurs of reassurance. “I’m not going to bust you, kick you out, whatever you’re thinking. Let me help you. You can’t be more than what… sixteen?”
“I’ll be twenty in two weeks.”
“Where are your parents?”
Lila shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. M-my father t-taught me firsthand how to do my job. Mom k-knew and b-blamed me. I-I’m not going back there.”
Hutch flinched. He knew he should keep his distance, preserve the detachment, and not risk giving her any indication that he wanted more than to help her, but he could feel her pain as it radiated from her slight frame. He opened his arms slightly and she flung herself into them, burrowing her face into his shoulder. He closed his arms about her loosely. “Do you have anyone?”
“A-an Aunt. In Culver City. Carla Owens. I-I’da tried to make it there but I’m afraid she—might not want me.”
“Do you know her number?”
“Yeah.” And she mumbled the digits against his shoulder.
“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to place a call to your aunt and if she’s willing to help, I’ll drive you out to Culver City myself. If we can’t reach her, we’ll come up with something else. Meanwhile, you’re going to have a good night’s sleep in a warm bed.”
“W-with y-you?”
Hutch froze but commanded himself not to push her away. Gently he shook his head. “No, honey, I’m going to be on the couch.”
“Wh-why?… Y-you don’t like me?”
“I think you’re lovely…very brave. But you’re frightened and hurting and you need nothing less than some guy taking advantage of that. Now, up you go. Time for sleep.” He pointed her in the right direction. “I’ll try to reach your aunt.”
“I—I could make it really nice for you. You know…for helping me.”
Hutch tilted her chin with his index finger and stared down into her eyes, “Lila, how long have you been doing this?”
“Almost seven years. I was a ’73 model. Big Louie called me his ’73 Mercedes. I’m real experienced.”
Her listener had to swallow hard to avoid choking as his throat clenched shut. When he opened his mouth, his words escaped as bare whispers. “Lila, how about starting tomorrow we find you a world where you never feel compelled to bargain with your body, hmm? You deserve so much more than that.” He let her out of the circle of his arms and she tried valiantly to stand, but the events of the night seemed to crash in on her and turned her legs to mush. He gathered her up in his arms and carted her to the bed where he tucked her in quickly, brushing the hair off her forehead with almost a paternal smile before he left.
Slowly he dialed the Culver City phone number trying desperately to compose a proper speech. “Hello, Ms. Owens? This is Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson of the Bay City police…”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch swung from filling a bowl of granola cereal and fresh blueberries with milk and regarded the doorway with mild alarm. Starsky shut the door with a sound smack and cavorted across the room like a man on a youth elixir. “Hutch, I’m telling you, man…after I dropped ya off last night I went over to Huggy’s and met this incredible–”
“Ken, is that—” Lila stepped out of the sleeping alcove wearing her newly dried clothes of the previous night. In the harsh light of day they were even more skimpy and inflammatory. Starsky’s mouth hung open and he took two steps back.
“Uh, Hutch, I’m–” Starsky’s face finished the comment. Lila stood still and trembled.
“Wait!” Hutch practically shrieked. “Introductions first. Lila, this is my partner and best buddy, Dave Starsky who has arrived for the first time in his entire life half an hour early to start our workday. Starsky, this is Lila, a friend of mine who is waiting for her aunt to arrive and take her to live with her in Culver City. Now maybe we can all sit down for breakfast?”
Starsky gave Hutch a look that indicated a belief in his blond partner’s temporary insanity before he turned a dazzling and comfortable grin on Lila. She responded immediately, basking in its warmth like a young duck preening her feathers in the sun on a pond bank. Within five minutes the two of them were seated at the table chatting like long lost chums while Hutch looked on in speechless amazement and managed only a couple of spoonfuls from his cereal. At least she’s going to be free of Big Louie. Carla Owens sounded so nice…and to insist on coming herself to pick up her niece and take her shopping for real clothes. Maybe, just maybe Lila has a real chance. But to have been doing this since she was thirteen… God! Oh, God, how many more are there like her? How many more can I stand seeing, dead or alive, before I quit feeling shock? And what the hell do I do when I quit feeling it?
~~~~~~~~~~
“Big Louie, huh?” Starsky said with a low whistle an hour later. “You know Vice and Narco’ll string you up by the toes if they find out you had someone who could turn his whole operation and ya let her waltz away.”
“I don’t care!” Hutch growled, not at Starsky but the world that produced Big Louies. “I’m not going to break her back and spirit to get to him.”
“Shades of Sharman Crane?” Starsky queried with perfect sympathy in his voice.
Hutch smiled softly and shot his best friend a look of unadulterated affection. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Shameless softie.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“Zebra-3, come in, Zebra-3.”
“Zebra-3 here.”
“Zebra-3, shots fired at a 2-11 in progress at Wilson’s Trading Post. Officers require assistance.”
“Zebra-3, we are responding.” Hutch slapped the mars light on the roof and turned to Starsky, “Another pawn shop. If this is West, he does have iron-cast ones going after it at 9 in the morning on our turf.”
“Tell me about it, partner. Maybe this will be his last job.”
But they were bitterly disappointed. Arriving on the scene, Starsky and Hutch vacated the Torino and tore down the alley indicated by one of the non-injured uniformed officers. After ten minutes of thorough searching and doubling-back, they admitted that the culprit had eluded capture. Returning to the shop, Starsky interviewed both officers and soothed the young rookie who had taken a bullet in the upper arm while Hutch dashed into the shop in search of Theo Wilson. He found him huddled on the floor of the back room shirtless and boasting violent welts and bruises that stood out gruesomely even against his dark skin. Wilson glanced up at the newcomer and almost convulsed, holding up his hands to shield to his face. Hutch went down on his knees in front of the victim.
“Theo? It’s me, Hutch. Don’t you recognize me?”
“H-hutch?” A shadow of the normally booming, enthusiastic voice.
“Dammit, why isn’t someone in here with Theo!?” Hutch screamed in the direction of the storefront. “Take it easy, Theo. The ambulance will be here soon.” He watched as Theo failed in an attempt at a nod and quaked like a man in the last stages of malaria. “Jesus, Theo. Hold on, buddy.” Hutch shed his jacket and holster and hastily unbuttoned his flannel shirt, draping it over Theo’s shoulders and pulling it closed about him, careful of the bruising. Theo’s shoulders twitched violently once more and grew still.
“H-he…got o-off o-on it, man. I mean it… wh-while he w-was beatin’ me.”
“Shh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this yet, Theo. Save your energy and breath for right now.”
“A-always k-knew you’d give a guy th-the shirt o-off y-your back, Hutch, br-brother.”
“Hell, looks better on you anyway, Theo. Shh now.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch knew he shouldn’t. He looked at the phone in his hand as though it were a poisonous reptile. But after the day–no, the last three days–he’d had… Oh, hell! He waited for the call to connect and at the first sound of the melodious voice on the other end, he caved. “Lenore? Sorry I’m calling so late. I- I know w-we agreed not to see each other anymore… but could I come over?”
Twenty minutes later he breathed in a deep sigh as she opened the door and took his arm gently, drawing him into her luxuriously appointed condo. Dressed in a flowing concoction of silk, brocade, and satin slippers, she pulled him into her arms and cradled the back of his head with one warm, perfectly styled hand. “Oh, my warrior is tired tonight, aren’t you, darling?” The voice was as safe as roasted peanuts and summer baseball games encased in a body more exotic than mango groves and bougainvillea. He drank in her scent, felt the curves in his embrace, and lost the last vestige of his control.
“Ken?”
He turned over in the expansive canopy bed and opened his arms sleepily. She curled up against him. “What brought you here tonight?”
He gulped, felt moisture against the back of his closed eyelids, and knew he was going to stutter through any answer. Just say it, Hutchinson. “I—I n-needed you.”
“Oh, darling, I understand. I’m glad to be here. But what made you need me more tonight than a couple nights ago?”
“You’re so fresh and bright…untouched by everything I see each day. I guess I just needed–”
She began brushing her lips softly against his chest. “You needed to remind yourself that there’s a different world than the one in which you spend most of your time.”
“I—yeah.”
“There isn’t anything wrong with my world, Ken. You could be happy in my world too, if you gave yourself a chance. Haven’t you ever wanted to be free to pursue your music, see different parts of the world, cultivate a garden outside of a cramped room in an apartment?”
“I’ve spent most of my adult life running away from money, Lenore. I was born into it, remember?”
“Ken…” she buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder blade. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about things of beauty: music, culture, nature. Those things don’t have a price tag. But you can’t really devote yourself to them leading the life you do.”
“I do well enough.”
“Really? Do you feel fulfilled?” Fingers caressing his arm, sending chills fluttering across the planes of his chest.
“What a time to ask me that question, you little temptress.” Hutch smiled and started to turn her over in the bed but she halted him with a hand against his stomach.
“I’m serious, Ken. Haven’t you wanted a more complete life?” Her jade eyes were not seductive right now; rather, they caressed his face as if they could apply balm to his soul. He shivered, something nagging in the back recesses of his mind.
“The suburban house, wife, kids, dog, station wagon, basketball goal, swimming pool?”
“In essence. Not that any life we fashioned together would completely resemble that. I’m not housewife material. But I do know one thing…”
“What’s that? You seem to have figured everything out. Why not let me in on it?” He tried to adopt a teasing tone but the light in her eyes defied taking the conversation lightly.
“I want to have your child, Ken. I love you.”
“M-my …Lenore, you’re n-not—”
“Pregnant? No, Ken. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be. I never thought I’d feel that way…want that with anyone. But I do with you.”
“Provided I quit the Force,” Hutch said with a trace of bitterness.
“No, darling. Provided you take yourself out of the lion’s den in which you currently operate. You told me how you felt during the months before Starsky’s shooting. I think right now you’re riding the euphoria of his being able to work again…but as that wears off, do you really want to cycle back through that depression and despair when things start piling up on you again?”
Hutch relinquished his hold on her and sat up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed.
Lenore rose up on an elbow and traced a line down his back with her manicured nails. “Darling, what’s wrong?”
“I—I need to go. I’m sorry. I have to think, and I can’t—I won’t—do that here with you. Not like this.”
“Ken… I’m leaving for San Francisco in a week.”
“I thought your new job didn’t start until next month.”
“Yes, but I’m going to be an editor now. Even in a travel magazine, an editor’s position is a hike in responsibility from location consultant. So I’m going to move in early, get settled, and meet my new staff.”
~~~~~~~~~~
“You feeling all right, Blintz?”
But Hutch, though ostensibly driving, wandered somewhere between lost in thought and trapped in memories. Vanessa! That’s who… No, I’ve got to quit seeing Vanessa in every beautiful sophisticated woman who happens to like the finer things in life. Lenore isn’t like Vanessa. For one thing she seems to genuinely like Starsky. A voice whispered in his mind, Then why is she trying to take you away from him? She’s not trying to destroy our friendship. Yeah, the voice responded, and where would your friendship end up if you took a position in the SFPD?
“Hutch, if ya don’t respond to me wavin’ my hand in fronta your face, I’d hate to be one of the other poor saps out here on the road with you. Oh, waita minute, I am. So snap outta it!”
“Huh? Oh, sorry. Thinking.”
“Obviously.”
“How about we swing by Huggy’s. I want to pick his brain about these notes that keep turning up all over the city.”
“Best idea you’ve had all mornin’,” Starsky sighed, his eyes remaining serious and concerned as he stared at the blond.
Huggy did not immediately turn into sunny smiles when they knocked on his door. His expression vaguely resembled the one he wore after Bagley’s goons had trashed his bar and conked him over the head. “I’m not open for business, gentlemen,” he tried to joke but Starsky and Hutch just grinned in unison.
“Since when do we need to operate on general public hours?” Hutch demanded, following Starsky into the empty bar. Huggy went behind the bar and commenced sweeping a cleaning rag over the top.
“I don’t know so don’t ask me,” he said simply, something akin to abject worry coloring his tone.
“Huggy, we’re not here about West. Come ta think of it, though, we could ask why ya jump every time you think we’re gonna bring him into the conversation?”
“Lay it on me, gents,” Huggy blatantly ignored Starsky’s probe. Hutch sighed and pulled out the notes he’d collected, detailing quickly the events that accompanied them. Huggy read the notes and stopped the motion of the rag. “Now that’s gotta be a first. White Knight Consulting, Inc. open for business.”
“You heard anything, Hug?”
“About someone turning you into a cross between the SPCA and a social worker? Nope, Hutch m’man. Not a whisper. But I’ll keep my ears perked as usual.”
Starsky leaned in close and straightened the lapel on Huggy’s ridiculously bright polyester shirt, “And you won’t tell us anything about–”
“Starsky, the street is quiet about this dude West. Contrary to popular opinion—especially yours—I don’t go out there and suddenly the whole city’s tellin’ me their business. For one thing, most folks have figured by now that you two are surgically attached to m’ right an’ left side, dig?”
“Huggy, we don’t want to pressure you. We just want this guy under lock and key ASAP because he’s got a mean streak as long as his inseam. We have reason to believe he killed Tito Warren and he did put Theo Wilson in the hospital. I don’t know if Theo’ll ever be the same.” Hutch’s face spoke to the pain and grief he’d felt in the injured man’s presence. Huggy nodded solemnly and ducked his head.
“I know—word did get out about that. I went by the hospital to see about him. Sad, sad sight, gents. I want this dude put down as much as you.”
“Theo gave us a statement at the hospital and with corroboration from the officers at the scene we had enough for a warrant. We’ve got an APB out on him, but you know how scum tends to disappear into the sidewalk.”
“Maybe this turkey more’n usual,” Huggy whispered and then clamped his lips together, turning around to begin setting out clean glasses. Hutch leaned over the bar and gripped Huggy by the elbow, turning him around.
“Listen, pal, you’ve been hearing something. What’s eating you about this guy?”
Huggy’s face, normally jovial and full of good-natured mischief, had a desperate cast to it. “Look, can’t you two super-heroes back off this one and let some other fearless officers of the law track him down?”
Starsky stared at Hutch open-jawed. Hutch backed away from the bar-owner in his shock and sputtered, “T-this is our case, Huggy. We can’t just go to Dobey and say we want out because Huggy asked us. You got a particular reason?”
“Nothin’ you’d believe, and if I talk about it I’ll get the shakes. Go on, scram and let an honest businessman get back to work.” Huggy turned his back on them again and devoted his attention to the glasses.
“Why don’t you level with us, Hug, and we’ll tell ya if we believe you.”
Huggy spun around. “Okay, listen up close. My aunt Hattie called me a week before that afternoon in the police garage, Starsky, but I couldn’t put two and two together. Woman don’t even believe in telephones but she found one on purpose. She’s some sort of ‘soul specialist.’ You know, prayers, fasting, meditation, etc. Told me powerful evil was brewing, warned me to say anything to you I’d always wanted to say. Scared the hell out of me, but I couldn’t figure out what she meant until it was all over. Well, she called me again five days ago. Spent ten minutes yammerin’ about Hutch’s soul hanging in the balance. Said my blond brother should beware of deceptive beauty and one who embraces violence like it’s a woman. Now you get it? Don’t know what that first part means, but word on the street has it that West gets a particular chemical reaction outta makin’ folks bleed. An’ either one o’ you big brains stumbled onto what day a week from that phone call falls on? ‘Cause I ain’t likely to forget. May 15, 1980, gentlemen.”
Hutch’s face shifted through several shades between ashen pale and pink before graduating to scarlet, “Oh, this is nonsense!” He roared and felt disappointment when Huggy failed to blink or cringe. But Starsky’s reaction, though much quieter, was the more violent by far. He swayed slightly, reached up a hand to grasp the edge of the bar, and then sank down in a heap on the floor. Huggy flew around the bar and helped Hutch haul the unconscious detective into the nearest chair so Hutch could bring him round with pats to the cheek, squeezes on the shoulder, and words of encouragement. “I ought to–” Words failed Hutch as he glared across Starsky’s lolling head at their friend. Huggy threw up two hands in a gesture of surrender but his face remained stern.
“You asked, Hutch! You pushed me ‘til I had to tell ya. Look, I don’t care what you think with your WASP education and pyscho-babble. I learned a long time ago not to discount a damn thing Aunt Hattie says. She’s as good at what she does as Aunt Minnie is with her Voo-doo.”
“God save me from relatives like yours! Starsky’s attack was fueled by a selfish, mean old man whose pet crime spree had been interrupted and who wanted revenge. Simple as that. And in case you forgot, they were shooting at both of us.”
“Yeah, well, accordin’ to Aunt Hattie when I confronted her after the events, Gunther was just a pawn. An instrument of evil. And Starsky was the primary target. Gunther wanted both of you; the Power behind him wanted Starsky. Kept this from you both since that day because I had nightmares myself every time I contemplated it.”
“You’re trying to tell me the guy with the pitchfork and horns was after my partner?” Hutch scoffed. Huggy fell silent and his face turned to stone.
“H-hutch?”
Hutch’s attention immediately shifted as he dropped down in front of the chair and his suddenly lucid partner. “I’m here, buddy. You all right now?”
“Mmm, yeah, ‘M fine. G-guess we better h-head t-to Metro and give those files another go. Must be some lead we’re overlookin’.”
“Are you sure you’re–”
“I’m fine, Hutch, jeez!” Starsky snapped, pushing out of the chair and wobbling before he squared his shoulders, thrust out his chest, and walked calmly out of the bar without a backwards glance. Huggy looked away and Hutch’s face softened when he read the pain in the finely chiseled features.
He stood and planted a hand on their friend’s shoulder. “He’s just embarrassed about fainting, Huggy, that’s all. I think he’s been trying hard not to think about that particular anniversary.”
“That ain’t it, Hutch. You’re as blind as a one-eyed dog in a room full of black cats. He believes me, bro. He’s scared to death for you. I’m scared too. Maybe it’s ‘bout time you were.”
Hutch rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, Christ. Huggy, I have no plans to be anything but thrilled when we nail West’s hide to the wall and send him up for enough years to forget what violence, women, or anything does to his hormones.” He swiveled on heel and left a forlorn Huggy Bear standing in the silent bar.
Hutch found a shaken Starsky leaning against the LTD. “Jus’ about to come in an’ get ya. Dobey just radioed in. West’s PO was found dead… by his six-year-old kid no less. God!”
Hutch jumped into the driver’s seat as Starsky slammed the passenger door shut. “Well, this is shaping into a beautiful morning,” Hutch said with a note of disgust.
“Tell me about it,” Starsky mumbled. Hutch peered at his partner with his peripheral vision while he negotiated traffic.
“Starsky, you don’t…I mean—what Huggy…”
“Drop it, Hutch. You don’t really wanna hear what I havta say on the subject, so just let it go.” Starsky’s voice quivered like a bowstring pulled taut.
Hutch gripped the steering wheel and had the brief daydream that his hands were wrapped around Huggy’s neck. Starsky believes in it. Oh, sheesh. That’s it! I’m never paying my bar tab now! Huggy knows he’s a pushover for monster movies, science fiction, and anything supernatural. That I got him back in one piece from Playboy Island still amazes me. He twitched for a month when I said the word ‘hell’ after Pine Lake.
Part Two
All thoughts of dire predictions and the supernatural fled when confronted with the scene at Martin Jameson’s apartment. Hutch stared down at the beaten body ensconced in a twisted caricature of comfort in a reclining chair. “Strangled after he was thoroughly thrashed,” the ME whispered, mindful of the small child who hovered in the doorway of his bedroom. “I’ll know more specifically after I put him through the paces, but I’d say death occurred somewhere between midnight and three AM.”
“You wonder why the kid didn’t hear something and come out of his room. I’d stake my life savings that he’s alive because he didn’t make an appearance—” Hutch’s theorizing ended abruptly when he felt the tug of a gripping weight around his long legs. Hutch stared down at the child and then met Starsky’s equally astonished eyes. Usually children flocked to the dark half of the dynamic duo, seeming to sense the inner child alive and well within Starsky’s street-wise cop. The crime team swarmed around taking care of the formalities, but the child was oblivious.
“Has someone called child services?” Starsky asked as Hutch carefully extricated his legs from the frantic grasp and bent down to the child’s eye level. Starsky’s voice indicated annoyance that the kid was not being shielded from the unpleasantness of the crime scene.
“Yeah, someone should be on their way. Kid’s all alone. Only child. Mother died when he was two.”
“Hey, there, champ, you feel kind of warm.” Hutch lay the back of his hand gently on the child’s forehead and drew it back with the quickness of reacting to an open flame. “He’s burning up, Starsk.”
“You think that’s why?” Starsky mused. “Maybe he was on some kinda medicine that knocked him out, so he didn’t even hear what was goin’ on in here?”
“What’s your name, buddy?” Hutch asked in his quiet, soothing tone.
“Will.”
“Will, have you been feeling kinda bad lately?”
The child nodded slowly. “Daddy was going to take me to the doctor today.” He reached out his hands in the unmistakable “pick me up” gesture of small children but before Hutch could comply, the startling blue eyes rolled back and the little boy buckled at the knees. Hutch barely had time to cradle the falling child.
Hutch pressed his ear to the child’s chest and waved a hand in front of the tiny mouth and nose. “Corey,” he barked at the ME, “get over here. I think he’s having trouble breathing. Starsky–”
“Paramedics,” Starsky said. “I’m on it.”
With the combined ministrations of the medical examiner and the paramedics, Will rallied. But he gave them considerable trouble when they attempted to strap him to the gurney for transport. He thrashed around, throwing terrified looks around the room, and reaching for something. Corey turned from trying to calm the child. “Come over here, Hutch.”
Hutch had gotten out of the way of the medical experts and was deep in discussion with Starsky. He pivoted at the sound of his name. When Hutch approached the gurney, Will’s frenzied movements eased immediately and he grabbed onto Hutch’s hand, his eyes closing, face relaxed. Hutch leaned over and whispered, “Will, these guys are going to take you to see a doctor who’ll help you feel better. That’s okay with you?”
“Come…with…me.”
Hutch glanced up at Corey in time to spot the moisture pooling in his eyes before the medical examiner looked away. Screw regulations, procedure, duty. What the hell did any of them have to do with a poor, sick little boy who’d just found his only parent… Hutch bent down and said in a tone of forced cheerfulness that belied his heart breaking. “Will, I’ll be right with you. Just need to tell my partner, okay?”
“’Kay.”
Hutch took Starsky’s arm and pulled him over into a corner of the room. “Starsk, he’s just a kid–”
Starsky just smiled sideways at him and said in a contrasting, deeply saddened tone, “He’s an unusual kid, Hutch. Baker just told me when he and Carney arrived on the scene they found Will perched on the arm of the recliner holding onto his dad’s hand. No sobbing, no fireworks. Just little tear tracks on his face. ‘Parently he didn’t even go find a neighbor or nothin’. Just came in here, saw his dad like that, and went right to the phone and called the police.”
“God! Starsk, I’m going in with him. Have them send the child services rep to Memorial. Will you…uh…”
“Cover your butt with Dobey?” Starsky grinned and patted Hutch’s cheek. “Partner, by the time I’m through Dobey’ll have ya in line for a medal. Now go on, get outta here.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Two hours later Hutch sat in a brightly decorated room on the children’s floor and watched the rise and fall of the sheets covering the barely discernible lump in the hospital bed. The woman from child services had shown up, waxed sympathetic over the situation, and disappeared to relay information to the next-of-kin, Jameson’s brother, who lived in Fresno and was about to embark for Bay City.
“What’s your name?” Came a small raspy voice and suddenly the lump had turned and two flashing blue eyes searched Hutch’s face. He instinctively pulled the chair closer to the bed.
“Hutch.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“Yeah, well, my best friend gave it to me.”
Will nodded slowly in that oddly serious, adult manner of his. “Yeah. My daddy calls…called me William the Con-con-que- Conqueror. And he was my best friend.” The voice quaked. “Can’t be best friends with someone who’s dead, huh?”
Hutch frowned. When I was six, someone had to tell me over and over that my dog wasn’t coming back to me when it got run over by a truck. How does this kid know so much, so young? The frown gave way to a comforting smile as Hutch brushed some stray curls from the little boy’s forehead. “Sure you can. Your dad wouldn’t want you to quit loving him or thinking about him and those good times you must have had if he was your best friend. Because he’ll keep on loving you. And you’ll always be his best friend.”
“Daddy was going to let me have coffee after I saw the doctor. I really like coffee. He won’t let me have it a lot ‘cause he says—s-said it will make me short if I drink a lot of it. You’re tall…do you like coffee?”
Hutch grinned. “Sure do. But my parents wouldn’t let me drink coffee when I was your age either.”
Will accepted the wisdom in this statement as absolute fact and turned back over in the bed. Within a few minutes, Hutch noted again the rhythmic movement of deep sleep. He settled back in the chair and closed his own eyes, determined to keep quiet vigil until this Michael Jameson showed. He better be a stand-up guy. I don’t relish the idea of turning Will over to just any jerk with the right last name. Yeah, like I have a choice in the matter.
An hour later, Hutch got his wish. A tall, sandy-haired man poked his head into the room, and spotting Will, opened the door the rest of the way and quietly approached the bedside. He gently placed a hand on the child’s cheek and then seemed to take notice of the tall, blond man sprawled half-dozing in the uncomfortably small visitor’s chair.
“Detective Hutchinson?”
Hutch jerked fully awake and sat up ramrod straight in the chair before he rose to shake the hand Will’s visitor held out expectantly. “I’m Michael Jameson, Will’s uncle. I caught the first available flight when I got word. My wife was desperate to come with me, but she’s eight months pregnant and on complete bed rest under physician’s orders. Her mom’s with her and I’ll be with Will and perhaps that way we’ll have all the bases covered.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Jameson.”
“Call me Mike. I can’t thank you enough for looking after Will till I could get here. The doc said viral pneumonia… what’s a kid that young doing with viral pneumonia? And Marty! D-did M-Marty su-suffer? W-was h-he shot, was it qu-quick…how much does Will know?” The blue-green eyes fastened on Hutch swam suddenly and spilled over. Mike turned his face and Hutch reached out and patted his back soothingly.
How the hell do I answer his questions? Mike, your brother was beaten unmercifully and strangled within six feet of your nephew’s bedroom. Will spared him the awkward task with a movement behind them and a sudden enthusiastic cry. “Uncle Mike!” Both men turned around. Will sat in the middle of the bed trying to hold out his arms but frustrated by the IVs.
“Kiddo!” Mike hurried to the bed and enveloped his nephew in a hug. Will clung and fit his head into the curve between Mike’s neck and shoulder. Hutch felt his legs go boneless with overwhelming relief. He fiddled for his pocket watch and winced at the passage of time, clearing his throat to attract Mike’s attention.
“I should probably head back to the station. I’m glad I could stay with Will, but I shouldn’t leave my partner to do all the work tracking down the person responsible for your being here right now.”
“You’ll…come back, Hutch?” Will asked plaintively with a quirk to his eyebrows that tugged at every paternal heartstring Hutch never knew he had. He reached out and tousled the little boy’s sandy curls, noticing the strong resemblance between nephew and uncle, and said softly, “You betcha, champ. And if you’re better maybe I’ll try to sneak some coffee in here.” After handing a card with his contact information to Mike, Hutch left.
He stopped a few feet down the hall and sighed. God, pneumonia on top of everything else! I have to believe he’ll be okay. I have to. It’ll be hard, and if I find the bastard who’s done this to his family I’ll be tempted to wring his sorry neck, but Will’s got some good people to help him. He’ll be okay. Now if I could just quit feeling so…tired…Maybe Lenore’s right…maybe I am getting over the energizing joy of Starsky being back on the force and it’s hitting me again…the ugliness, the sorrow, the violence, the inability to make the world a better place…Hutch all but jumped out of his skin when the elevator door slid open to reveal the subject of his thoughts. Radiant, bright smile, clothed in a natural elegance, she took his breath and without thinking, he grabbed her arm, pushed the elevator button ferociously, and tugged her into the empty elevator car, not even waiting for the door to slide closed before he pressed her against the wall. She didn’t get a single syllable out before he rendered her mouth useless for speech. When he lifted his head, he felt the flush suffusing his face and commanded himself to pull his thoughts together before he took things too far for a hospital elevator.
“You…” he said breathlessly… “are dangerous. Intoxicating.”
“Aren’t you supposed to fall on an oasis in the desert with a passion?” she said significantly, reminding him of their conversation the previous night. “I’ve got two hours before my next meeting if you need a thorough rejuvenation. Walk on the beach, late lunch, invigorating swim…you name it, I’m game.”
“Anything?” Hutch asked with a wicked edge in his voice. Lenore flung her head back and laughed as the elevator deposited them on the first floor. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and walked ahead of him into the sunlight.
“You know, Ken, for you it’s always been anything and everything.”
“Don’t I know it, shameless hussy,” he said with pure affection. She tilted her head to the side and winked at him. He cupped her cheek and started to draw her face forward until he realized that they stood in the middle of the ambulance bay. He sighed, dropped his hand, and shook himself to rid his brain from the seductive images her wink summoned. “No, I need to get back to work. Dobey’s probably already picked out my firing squad. Starsky’s got my car. Give a guy a ride?”
“Anywhere, baby,” she tweaked his nose then confiscated his arm with authority, and drew him toward her car.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch slammed the door behind him and collapsed on the sofa with his mail in his lap and a bad taste in his mouth from a conversation at Metro. Dobey had been gruff and then expressed a sincere hope that the little boy would make a full and rapid recovery. Hutch thought he got off the hook with incomparable ease and knew whom to thank for that, but his partner’s face was anything but encouraging when Hutch joined Starsky at their desks.
“What’s wrong, buddy?” Hutch asked as he sat down.
“I thought you and that Lenore broke it off.”
“‘That Lenore’ and I have reconsidered. What about it?” Hutch stiffened. Starsky didn’t give any indication of having noticed the change in demeanor and his uncharacteristic scowl deepened as he looked away from his bristling blond partner.
“She called here earlier tryin’ to track ya down. I told her where ya were and why… you know, about the kid and all…she didn’t say anythin’, Hutch. Nothin’. Just that she’d try to clear her schedule and stop by to check on you.”
“I know there’s a point buried somewhere in all that–”
“Aw, dammit, Hutch!” Sounding acutely uncomfortable, Starsky pounded a fist down on the file in front of him and then lowered his voice when he felt the eyes of the other officers glued on their desks. Hutch was tempted briefly to feel sorry for him: Starsky had to be particularly aggrieved before he commented unfavorably on one of Hutch’s love-interests. “I gave her a pretty good idea what Will had been through and I didn’t get a ‘oh, how awful,’ ‘what a poor little guy,’ ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ nothin’!”
“At least she stopped by,” Hutch said in a rigidly controlled voice that Starsky only heard on rare occasions. It rubbed him entirely the wrong way. The sapphire eyes narrowed and the chin thrust forward.
“Oho, blue eyes, you just put that thought right back where it came from. Don’t make this about me. I’ve been combin’ the streets, talkin’ to Jameson’s neighbors, reading the files ‘til my eyes bulged outta my head trying to figure out how to nail this sucker. I–”
“I didn’t mean it that way, Starsky. I know one of us had to be on the job. I just meant that at least Lenore did come by. I think if I hadn’t met her in the hallway, she’d have come to the room and been very sympathetic.”
Starsky shrugged. “Hutch… buddy, I don’t wanna butt in where I got no cause, but she—she doesn’t even seem real. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“No, Starsky, I don’t,” Hutch said coolly. “And incidentally what gives you the right to determine what’s ‘real’?” He stood quickly and pushed his chair under the desk with more force than necessary. “I’m going downstairs to see what Corey has for us.”
~~~~~~~~~~
And now here he sat on the sofa, dazed and exhausted after finishing the day no closer to apprehending Barry West but more certain than ever that he was responsible for the crime spree adding to their caseload. The mild argument with Starsky only made him more tired. Even the pile of mail on his lap weighed heavily on him so he turned his attention to it and sorted through an array of bills and junk mail before he pulled out a non-return-addressed envelope that arrested his concentration because of the handwriting. He shook his head. Silly to think the notes had ended with Lila. He tore through the envelope and extracted a note of longer length than usual.
There are many forms of prison. Carrying a burden of guilt can be as confining as iron bars. You and your partner share an unlimited well of forgiveness. Can you offer someone the unconditional forgiveness you’ve lavished on your best friend, and he on you? Look deep within your heart, draw strength from the bond you have with your partner, and then visit the occupant of Room 45 in St. Agnes’ Sanitarium.
Hutch let the note fall limply to the floor and leaned his head back against the sofa cushion almost instantly asleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I’m tellin’ ya, Hutch, this new place on Sixth Ave. has started makin’ these stuffed breakfast foods. Sounds like a slice of heaven. And even nutritious. Gotta be better for ya than that desiccated gunk you shove down your gullet in the mornin’…Never mind that the girl who works behind the counter looks like Farrah Fawcett’s slightly younger sister. If we hadn’t gotten that hot tip…”
“Hot tip?” Hutch swung his eyes from their useless survey of the flying scenery.
Starsky grinned. “Have ya been listenin’ to a single thing I said or am I talkin’ to the steering wheel again? Maybe I oughta get Merle to paint a great big smiley face on it so at least I’ll feel like someone’s payin’ attention to me.”
Hutch dragged a hand across his face and took a deep breath. “Hey, look, about yesterday—”
Starsky flapped a hand at him. “Nah, partner, I was way outta line. I shouldn’a climbed on ya just because I was hacked off with society. You know the nasty stuff involvin’ kids always gets to me the worst.”
“Yes, I know. And that’s why I shouldn’t have implied that you didn’t care.”
“You said you didn’t mean it that way and I believe ya. Let’s just call it even and focus on puttin’ this nutcase somewhere he forgets what the sun looks like.”
“You said something about a hot tip?”
“Yeah,” Starsky beamed. “Dobey got an anonymous phone call this morning saying one of the orderlies at St. Agnes’ Sanitarium might know something about West. Why do you think I’m early again for the second time in a week? I swear Dobey’s somehow figured out our driving schedule so he called me and blasted my ass outta bed at 6 this mornin’.” Starsky expected a chuckle from his passenger or at least a well-timed snort. When none materialized, he let his eyes slide lazily over and his hands gripped the steering wheel. “Hutch? Blondie, you okay over there?”
“St.—St. Ag-Agnes’?” Hutch squeaked. He shifted in the seat, extracted the note from his back pocket, and read it aloud. They were only a few minutes away from the front gates of the Sanitarium and abruptly Hutch questioned his wisdom in mentally agreeing to follow the letter’s instructions. Starsky must have been tapped into his brain waves again because he shook his head.
“You call and see who this occupant is?”
“No.”
“Hutch,” Starsky said softly in that ‘tread easy’ voice he adopted when he dared comment on Hutch’s police work. “These notes, this stuff that’s been going on, coulda been leadin’ to this all along. We’ve been thrown into confrontations with more’n our fair share of fruitcakes that could be after some kinda revenge. Shouldn’t you at least know what you’re walking into?”
“Starsky, none of the notes have led me into anything dangerous. Nor have they caused me to do anything I—or you for that matter—wouldn’t have done anyway without some note prodding me on. I have a feeling there’s a pattern here and whatever it is, it’s not hostile.”
“Ever heard of bein’ lulled into a false sense of security?”
“Look, it’s a religious charity run, private home for the mentally ill. What could possibly—Okay, okay. Cabrillo State. I know, I remember. I just don’t think this is in the same league. I’ll talk to the head honcho when we get there and feel the situation out. All right?”
“All right. Look, to save time, I’ll tackle the orderly and you investigate your own anonymous tip if the situation looks harmless. I’ll be right close by if you need me.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Ten minutes later Hutch took a seat in a neat, spare office across the desk from a woman whose quiet grace made Lenore look like the product of a catalog. Dr. Andrea Simon read the note and silently sized up the man in front of her with a serene smile.
“I realize this is highly unorthodox,” Hutch began but Dr. Simon held up a hand with a broader smile.
“I have to say, I’m not accustomed to this sort of thing, but in this case I’m grateful. Ms. Harmon has long hoped to have a chance to speak with you, but she refused to communicate with you and make a request.”
Hutch felt like he was on the wrong side of a barrage of water balloons. “Ms. Harmon? Diana Harmon?”
“Yes, Detective Hutchinson. Now that you know, are you less anxious to follow through with your visit?”
“Frankly? Hell, yes! Umm…sorry. I mean, I… you do know about–”
“Of course I do. And I can understand your reaction. However, it seems the entire point of the note is forgiveness and if there had been no fault committed, what need would you have of putting her at peace?”
Hutch shifted his eyes away from her piercing hazel gaze and drifted back in time. The humiliation, disbelief, fear, and almost disgust washed over him and his mouth tasted like sandpaper. “I thought she was being treated in a facility for the criminally insane—”
“Diana has made enormous strides in her treatment. However, she was transferred to us about three months ago because of our special approach to palliative care.”
“Palliative care?”
“I’m sorry. I forget that I throw around a lot of medical jargon. Palliative care is the compassionate alleviation of the pain and suffering associated with terminal illness. Ms. Harmon is dying, Detective Hutchinson. She has an inoperable brain tumor and will not be with us much longer.”
Hutch sucked in his breath sharply and stared down at his lap, willing the various sensations to cease their warring. He’d rather feel one distinct emotion than a whole slew of them. Don’t be an idiot, Hutchinson. Diana couldn’t have been responsible for this. Do you really think she has an accomplice running around on the outside planting notes on people just to lead you here? You’ve been watching too many movies with Starsky.
“Detective, I know you probably feel she shouldn’t be granted any pardon. But the note is right about one thing: a prison doesn’t have to be made of bars. Terminal illness and regret can be worse than lifetime solitary confinement. I don’t insist that you see her, but would you like me to give you a few moments alone to think the matter over?”
“No,” Hutch said firmly, his stomach settling down and his heart finally agreeable to remaining in the same location. “I’ll see her. Now, if I may.”
When he entered the room, Hutch fought the urge to turn around and disappear. Not because of fear or loathing but an overwhelming sensation that he was intruding in someone’s very private, very personal pain. During the first few weeks in the hospital following his coma, Starsky hadn’t wanted but a few select people privy to his suffering. Hutch had of course been in that inner circle and understood his partner’s feelings. The tiny form in the bed barely resembled the pixie woman whose lighthearted demeanor concealed a maniacal possessiveness and paranoia. Suddenly soft brown eyes blinked rapidly at him then closed tightly.
“H-Hutch? I—I must be dreaming again.”
“No, Diana. I-It’s me.” He took a tentative step forward but she shook her head weakly.
“You don’t have to come any closer if you prefer not. I—I understand.”
Hutch cursed his foolishness. “Don’t be silly,” he said softly and plopped down in the armchair nestled in a corner between the bed and the window. Diana shifted her face to take in the sight and smiled gently.
“In that light…you almost look like an angel…is that what this is? H-have you come to take me home, Hutch?”
For a startled minute Hutch felt bereft of speech until he realized what she meant by “home.” He forced his mouth to form a smile. “I’m certainly no angel, Diana.”
“Yes you are. To come and see me…after… I—I prayed that I would have the chance…to…but I never believed you’d come.”
The pain and effort it took her to formulate words demanded Hutch’s honesty. He sat forward in the chair, folded his hands over his knees, and said firmly, “I don’t really know why I’m here, Diana. Don’t make this out to be some saintly sacrifice on my part.”
“No one…blindfolded you and forced you through that door, Hutch. That…that means enough to me. I’ll…run out of energy pretty quickly…but I want to say…now that you are here. I’m so…so sorry, Hutch. Having caused you and that policewoman pain is my greatest sorrow…I don’t—I don’t really mind d-dying. To be free of this m-mind that c-caused me to do such horrible things will be a relief, actually. B-but I do wish I could go back and no-not ever have hurt you both. I—I could ha-have killed you.”
Hutch never thought in a lifetime he could drum up enough of a reason to physically touch Diana Harmon again, but faced with the raw finality of her words and the proof of her body’s torment, he couldn’t withstand the urge to approach the bed and run his fingertips under her eyes, wiping away the tears. “Hey, shh…it’s…it’s… I-I’m fine. Linda’s fine. It was a bad time but a long time ago. We’re all past that now.”
“Do you… can you…forgive me? I don’t ask that you ever come here again… but could you remember me more kindly now? I don’t want to be an enemy in someone’s memory.”
Hutch choked when he first opened his mouth to reply. His chest hurt. His eyes hurt. He wanted to run away and forget he was ever here. But the face that stared at him held no rage, no jealousy, no grasping, clinging…the features were open, childlike, and caring. An iron band around his heart wrenched open and Hutch drew in a lingering, deep breath. Without a qualm, he took the nearest trembling hand and clutched it within the warmth of his own. “I forgive you. I won’t remember anything but now.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth curved in the shadow of a grin. When she spoke again he had to lean in closer to hear her. “You’re so easy to love, Hutch. I’m so glad you came to take me home.” The eyes flashed once more over his features and then closed and the hand in his grasp ceased trembling. When he let go in shock, the hand fell limply to the bed and lay still. He gasped and fled to the door.
“Nurse! Dr. Simon… somebody!” He called out, not caring about disturbing the other residents on the floor. A flood of white-garbed personnel careened past him as he leaned against the wall outside her room with the sense that he’d been thrown into a churning ocean. Warm hands took hold of his arm and he looked into the glistening eyes of Dr. Simon.
“Detective, come with me, back to my office. Your partner is waiting there.”
“She’s–”
“She’s gone, Detective. We knew it might be any time though we didn’t expect something like this. She’s a DNR. The Sisters are in there with her and Father Ryan will be here shortly. Why don’t we have some coffee in my office? This has to have been a shock.”
“I’m fine!” Hutch snapped. “She’s the one who’s…”
“Detective! I admire your compassion, but you should see your face. I’m a medical professional so please give me credit for knowing when you are not fine. Now are you coming or do I have to hoist you up and carry you the rest of the way?”
The joke did the trick. Hutch’s eyes snapped open and his lips moved before his brain could fuss at him for smiling after someone had just expired in his presence. He followed her docilely down the hall and into her office. Starsky jumped out of his seat the minute Hutch entered the room, but the blond detective shooed his partner back down with just a look. Starsky could tell by Hutch’s expression that his sensitive partner was teetering on the edge so he sat obediently and watched Hutch with deep blue, troubled eyes. Dr. Simon forced them both to accept cups of steaming coffee and then she sat down behind her desk.
“I know this has been difficult for you, Detective Hutchinson–”
“Hutch, please.”
“Hutch. I have to say though that I’m both proud of you and thankful. Please let me tell you something that Diana would not for the world have wanted said while she was alive, but now in her passing, I think someone should know about the kindness of her heart.”
Starsky swallowed hard. Hutch heard the sound and understood when he saw the tightening around his partner’s jaw. Starsky could be the kindest, most understanding person on earth but anyone who hurt Hutch usually remained for life on Starsky’s persona non grata list.
“Diana’s one comfort during her treatment and therapy was that she didn’t hurt you enough to force you out of the work you love. The more lucid she grew under treatment, the more she appreciated your and your partner’s contribution to the community. She kept up with your careers even behind the walls of her first institution. Do you remember your primary at-home physical therapist, Detective Starsky?”
Starsky shot forward in the seat and fastened his eyes on Hutch, whose mouth fell open and answered for his partner. “Y-yes….He’s one of the finest in Southern California. We could never have afforded him on our own, but when he showed up and volunteered his services for free…we were stunned. Starsky’s trauma surgeon credited that therapy with Starsky’s ability to return to work as soon as he did–”
“He was instructed to tell you that his services were being offered at no cost. He was in reality being paid. Anonymously, too, I might add. Ms. Harmon has a very gifted lawyer, gentlemen, who though living executor of Ms. Harmon’s finances (she was an independently wealthy young woman) had a great deal of respect for the progress she made in treatment. He did not hesitate to follow her wishes…both to hire the physical therapist and see that her gift remained anonymous. I know of all this because he and I had a lengthy chat when Diana first arrived here. I suppose he wanted the doctor in care of her last few months to be aware of the kind of person she’d become despite all her mental obstacles.”
Hutch felt the warm pressure of his partner’s hand on his forearm and willed his skin to soak in the support. “Why didn’t you tell me this before I went to see her?”
Dr. Simon brushed a stray, springy raven curl off her forehead and presented Hutch with a wise, sharp smile. “Hutch, while Diana was still with us, I felt constrained by confidentiality. But had I been free to tell you, I wouldn’t have until after you’d spoken with her. After all, forgiveness offered out of some sense of obligation or gratitude isn’t really the same thing, is it? Diana was a bright, perceptive young woman: she’d have been able to tell the difference.”
Starsky’s mouth suddenly resumed function, “Doc, did you send the note?” Hutch understood the question and the look on his partner’s face. Maybe this note was different than the others after all; maybe at least this one had an explainable origin… But Hutch’s face solidified: he’d seen the note. It was identical to the others. No question about it. No use wishful thinking.
Dr. Simon shook her head at the dark-haired detective. “No, no, professional ethics wouldn’t have allowed it. But whoever did helped a troubled soul find some true comfort and no matter what anyone thinks about religion or faith or the afterlife, comfort in time of dying is a precious gift. So many of the residents in this place leave this world without it.”
~~~~~~~~~~
They were en route to Metro before Hutch realized that he’d been too stunned to even inquire about Diana’s arrangements or family members or anything. He shrugged off the momentary pang of guilt. Even in the last few moments of life Diana hadn’t asked him for reconciliation and continuing friendship; she’d only wanted absolution. Having soothed his guilt muscle, Hutch dealt next with the nagging sensation that something was wrong. The silence in the Torino was more assaulting to his ears than a jackhammer at full speed. He shifted in his seat and watched Starsky.
Always a canvas full of emotion, Starsky’s face indicated his current struggle to assimilate the events of that morning: the bright eyes flashed ominously and the muscles at the corner of the expressive mouth tightened and released spasmodically. Hutch figured they’d had enough tragedy and soul-searching. Time to lighten the mood. “You planning on spitting out those nails you’re chewing, or are they going to make up for our missing breakfast?”
The mouth released in a snort and slight grin and Starsky turned grateful eyes momentarily away from the road. Hutch felt the insides of his chest throb. Yeah, Hutchinson, look in the mirror and really tell yourself you can walk hundreds of miles away from this person…I want to hear you say it… I dare you. Starsky adjusted his shades and executed a tricky turn with the usual panache. “I—I was worried that—well, you know…”
“You were worried that I’m sitting over here eating myself in two over Diana.”
“Yeah.”
Hutch smiled. “Don’t worry, partner. I can’t t-talk about it right now…but I am fine.”
“Enough to work? I could drop ya at your place, tell Dobey you got a touch of the 24-hour thing going around. I mean, if you need some time–”
Hutch reached behind his shoulder and touched the hand that cradled the top of his seat. “Thanks, buddy, but I need to work. ‘Sides, you’ve been covering for me a lot the last few days.”
“Hey, didn’t you know that was in the police manual? Coverin’ for your partner when he starts gettin’ these crazy notes sendin’ him out on various missions of mercy. It’s right there between ‘let him drink out of your coffee cup’ and ‘believe him when he starts hallucinating spotted dogs.’”
Hutch laughed. “That was no hallucination, partner. Unless you and Huggy both decided to join in at the last minute.”
“We were playin’ along to preserve your fragile hold on sanity.”
“Uh huh. And that explains why your hands smelled like dog the rest of the day?”
“What were you doing sniffin’ my hands? Somethin’ I oughta know about, Blintz?”
Hutch groaned. “New subject. What’d you get out of the orderly?”
“Frank Dawson tried out an impressive tap dancing routine before he settled down and relieved his conscience. Seems he used to hang with West before he decided that Barry’s activities only lead down one road. Frank cleaned up his act. Has been gainfully employed ever since. But he told me about the small group of cronies he and West belonged to. Described ‘em so well I could draw ‘em. They gathered in this little back room of a fallin’down sewin’ factory in the garment district. He can’t say the rest of the crowd still does but he thinks West might find his way there to check it out. So we’re headed there too.”
“Considering the lowlife in question, don’t you think we ought to invite someone else to the party?” Hutch was already reaching for the mic. Starsky grinned.
“Yeah, why should we hog the fun. You do the honors.”
“Zebra-3.”
“Go ahead, Zebra-3.”
“We are investigating the possible location of robbery-homicide suspect Barry West. Request backup at–” he glanced at Starsky who mouthed the address, “the corner of East Ave. and Fairlawn. Have them come in silent.”
“Roger, Zebra-3. Dispatching units.”
“I’d give my two front teeth to know who called in that tip.”
Starsky laughed, “Want my hunch? Frank Dawson. He just didn’t wanna let on right off the bat that he’d rat out an old friend no matter how nasty a specimen West is.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. What’d he do, preach this little sermon about friendship and loyalty and then proceed to sing you an opera?” Hutch’s grin produced an answering one on the tanned face of his friend.
“Gee, Hutch, ya’d think you were actually there…”
Both men laughed. Hutch leaned back in the seat and folded his hands across his stomach. “Been around the block a few times.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch flung another handful of cold water in his face and ordered his treasonous body to shut the hell up already. The bust—well, not the bust, but hopefully one that would lead to the big prize—was over and the possible key to West’s capture waited in the interrogation room. He and Starsky had not believed their luck—depending on how you look at it—when they stumbled onto the only occupant of the designated back room in the process of exchanging a bag obviously containing heroin for money. Starsky confirmed that the man fit one of Dawson’s descriptions. Unfortunately, the prospective recipient of the drug was a kid who looked barely out of middle school. Hutch had led the way, nerves quivering, and completed the arrest with Starsky looking on in silent admiration of his partner tempered by sadness at the condition of the drug buyer. The minute they arrived at Metro, Hutch fled to the rest room with a near panic attack. There hadn’t been but a smattering of powder in the bag but the closeness and the sight of his nightmare playing out on the face of a fifteen-year old had finished him off. He heard the door open and straightened to turn around but warm arms encircled his chest from behind and held him in place. Hutch relaxed in the grip and then remembered where they were.
“Starsky, I appreciate the support, but if you think there’ve been rumors about us in the past, you ain’t seen nothing yet if someone catches us in here like this.”
Starsky didn’t back away. “Ah, shaddup, willya? You’re hurtin’, you got a right to be hurtin’, but I need you in that interrogation room clickin’ on all your available cylinders. Got it?”
“I just know your terrible timing when it comes to grabbing hold of me. Remember Pine Lake? The campfire girls?”
“Yeah, well, who cares what a coupla rattlesnake smugglers think anyway?”
“You sure as hell cared then.”
“Right, but then they were leggy blondes I might score with.”
Hutch snorted and then broke into open, expressive mirth. “Starsk, considering our current position, I really wish you’d phrased that differently.” That had the desired effect. Starsky jumped back and as Hutch turned he caught a glimpse of a full-out Starsky blush before his embarrassed partner threw up one lone finger and slammed out of the john. Hutch leaned back against the sink and laughed until tears gathered. He glanced at the door and breathed, “Thanks, partner. I needed that.”
Hutch’s lips curled in distaste after his first good, long look at the filthy longhaired guy dressed in a five-year-old leisure suit and a superior smirk. He lounged against the wall and let Starsky start the process. Starsky usually took the ‘bad cop’ role but Hutch sensed a building desire within himself to tackle that task in this particular case. His bouncing, macho partner managed three words before the drug-dealer spewed out a string of profanity and insults against the cops’ mothers, sisters, girlfriends, and house pets. He was nothing if not thorough.
The tirade ended with, “I know my rights.”
Starsky pulled out a chair and sat down, grinning. “Sure you do. Bet you got a law degree from Hah-vard. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m just a humble street-kid from Brooklyn. Hard to keep up with your dazzlin’ wit.” That produced another spouting of hatred from their guest, this time in the form of racial slurs against Starsky’s heritage. Starsky just grinned broader. “Ya know, I’m proud of my roots.” He put a hand to his mouth and feigned an overly loud stage whisper to his partner. “Let me tell ya, it’s a helluva lot better than bein’ purebred pond scum like one other person in this room. Doncha agree, Hutch?”
Hutch smiled. “Oh, yes, absolutely. Jewish heritage: famous ancient kings, brilliant scholars, top-flight scientists, bravery in the face of adversity. Yeah, nice set of roots. Meanwhile, Mr. Saturday Night Fever over here probably comes from a tree of pimps, drug pushers, petty thieves, blackmailers… I mean, what else would you expect from someone who pushes smack into the hands of a fifteen-year-old child?”
“You pigs are sumpthin’ else. Weird. Real weird. Why doncha go play wi’ yaselves…or each other…and leave me the hell alone.”
Hutch was across the room in a flash and within inches of the drug-pusher’s face. “Look, you pitiful–” Starsky’s hand on his upper arm halted the explosion. Hutch stood back and resumed his utterly professional law enforcement officer demeanor. “I don’t give a good single damn about someone who sells a horrible death to kids. But fortunately for you we’ve got reason to believe you have information about someone even lower on the humanity totem pole. Bottom line: your life might get a lot easier if you can tell us anything about Barry West. Did you understand all that or should I translate it into Neanderthal for you?”
“How much easier?” His facial expression told them they had hit pay dirt. This unwashed illegal entrepreneur did know Barry West.
Starsky snorted. “Predictable. Just when I was gettin’ ready for some excitement in here. Once Blondie get’s goin’…Oh, well. Time for Informant 101, pal. You open your mouth and start talkin’ more than trash, we decide if we like your spiel, and then we bring your contribution to the attention of the DA. Follow the plan so far?”
The man did follow.
~~~~~~~~~~
Hutch stared at his telephone again. In some respects he was glad that he and Starsky didn’t need to begin their stakeout of Li Wu’s Pawn and Far East Gift Emporium until the following morning. Luke James had been certain about time frame and location. West had asked James to join in the fun and games, but Luke had made other plans with a stripper from one of the go-go clubs and West couldn’t understand Luke’s priorities. To appease his old chum, Luke had offered the services of his car and West readily accepted. Still, James had no idea where West would hole-up until time for the job. Wouldn’t be the factory, Luke informed them. West only checked in there once a day to see if any action was going down. But they could count on him showing up at Li Wu’s during broad daylight. “Once he sets his mind on when he’s gonna pull sumpthin’, he don’ change his mind for nobody’s money,” Luke assured them. “Kind of a control thing, you know?” When asked if Luke’s sudden disappearance from the street would alarm West, Luke grinned. “Naw. We weren’t gonna see each other till the next day for our weekly drinks and a dog fight.” Starsky and Hutch left the room shaking their heads. Now Hutch held his telephone receiver in one hand staring into space and regretting the slowly passing hours until they could do something pro-active. The hours alone in his apartment meant self-reflection…and he knew there was something he needed to do.
The voice that answered sounded like a tropical breeze ruffling the waters of a lagoon, and Hutch fought the inner urge to give way and bask in the auditory aphrodisiac. “Ken? Hello, is anyone there? Ken, is that you?”
“Hi, Lenore. Yeah…um…we need to talk. Sh-should I come over there or…”
“Oh, Ken. You don’t need to put yourself through that. I know what you’ll say. I’m leaving for San Francisco and you’ll be staying in Bay City.”
Relieved but guilty sigh. “Lenore, I’m sorry–”
“Hey, shush. I knew you meant it that night in front of your apartment. Just took you a little longer to figure out how much you meant it. I knew when I met you I couldn’t compete. Share you with Starsky, yeah, I could do that. But I couldn’t hold out against your tireless heart. Pin you down, take away your forum for saving the world, and you’d wither up and die. I just couldn’t keep from trying. You’re so easy to love.”
The words of a dead woman immersed Hutch like a baptism. He sank down on the floor, dragging the phone with him, and choked back a sob. “Ken? I’m going to hang up now. Don’t worry. I’m fine. You’ll be fine.”
Hutch heard the click and the silence registered in his fatigued brain. He replaced the receiver and then snatched it again, dialing a different number. The familiar voice eased some of the stinging behind his eyes immediately. “S-Starsk? You—you busy? Mind coming over?”
And of course Starsky never minded. He arrived twenty minutes later and initiated a series of Monopoly and card games, taught Hutch several new mind-reading tricks, and emptied the blond’s cupboard of anything that faintly resembled junk food. They chatted about baseball and laughed over Huggy’s newest female conquest. After years of friendship with Hutch, Starsky knew not to bring up Lenore or Diana, and by some unspoken but mutual agreement neither man mentioned that the following day was May 15th.
But the next morning Hutch knew Starsky had not forgotten Aunt Hattie’s prophecy. “Starsky, this is ridiculous. When have I ever worn a bulletproof vest for a damn stakeout? We’ll have enough firepower there that when West shows up he won’t make it an inch away from his car. Besides it’s hotter’n hell out today. Worst I’ve seen since the heat wave that conked the Tomato out three days in a row.”
“Hutch, I’m not askin’ ya; I’m tellin’ ya.”
“All right, hotshot. If I’m wearing one, guess who gets to match me?”
Starsky blinked at him. “But, Hutch, I’m not the one–”
“Oh, no, mother hen. If I have to sit around roasting my rear end off in hundred-ten degree heat, then you’re gonna suffer right alongside me.”
“I hear ya, I hear ya,” Starsky grumbled.
Hutch groaned and muttered a few less than flattering phrases about Huggy Bear, superstition, and overactive imaginations as he shed his beige cotton over-shirt, removed his gun and holster, and donned the vest over his green tee shirt. Starsky lifted a hand and waved it disapprovingly.
“Hey… over the bare skin, pal.”
“No way, Starsky. Look, it’s just as effective this way, but I get to take it off quicker, all right? Compromise or nothing at all.”
Once in the LTD and situated at a respectable viewing distance from Li Wu’s, Hutch shifted in the seat and brushed damp locks of hair off his forehead, cursing the heat. Starsky was chatting non-stop about nothing in general, a transparent attempt to take his own mind off something nagging uncomfortably at his brain. Hutch sighed charitably and reached for the walkie talkie.
“Barnes, are you and Wilkins in position? I don’t want this guy to have a prayer of squeezing by us.”
“Between us and Clary and Turner, Hutch, the guy’d have to be supernatural to get out of this without cuffs and a trial.”
“Did he havta say that?!” Starsky squawked. Hutch laughed out loud.
“Starsky, will you quit fidgeting? You’re a bundle of twitches and my overheated nervous system can’t handle it. This is one guy. I mean, yeah, from all accounts he’s a big guy, but he’s human and we’ll have six guns trained on him. He’d be dead before he got off a single shot. And he’s not the brightest brain on the block either, leaving fingerprints all over the place at two of the crime scenes…going around bragging about his escapades. We’re gonna nail him, Starsk, so sit back and re—lax!”
“Yeah, maybe I’m–” Starsky looked out the window before he curled up in the seat and watched Hutch from beneath lowered lashes. “I just got this awful…I mean…d’ya get the feelin’ maybe he wants to be caught…for some reason? I dunno…” He cleared his throat and shifted around again. “Umm…Hutch, ya know I love ya, right?”
Hutch turned the full force of his blue eyes in Starsky’s direction. They both knew their friendship comprised more love than mere brothers-in-arms camaraderie but neither felt the urge to over-verbalize it. For Starsky to be throwing out such a sentimental statement without a joke or a light tap on the back of Hutch’s head, he had to be in the grips of powerful worry. Snap him out of it, Hutch told himself. “Yes, well, I’m reconsidering the mutual nature of all that affection if you don’t sit still and quit trying to turn this into a scene out of your late-nite monster theater.”
“New subject, huh?”
“Affirmative.”
“Okay,” Starsky said, relaxing back against the seat. “I never did get to finish tellin’ ya about this in- cred– ible girl I met at Huggy’s a few days ago…”
Hutch smiled: equilibrium restored. He leaned his head back and listened, but half of his mind wandered away from the account of another Starsky conquest. How could I have thought for one minute that I wouldn’t miss this life…that I don’t need this? If everything goes according to plan, I’ll be able to stop by the hospital later this afternoon and tell Mike that we’ve caught the guy responsible for taking Will’s dad away from him. I’ll get to tell Theo that the brute who tortured him is off the streets… And I’ll get to sleep tonight knowing I helped take him off the streets…
“…and anyway, she had this tiny mole on her right cheek just to the side of her mouth… Hutch! Hutch, is that a light blue Chevy approachin’?”
Hutch grabbed the walkie talkie, “Get ready, guys. Looks like show time.”
Barry West had the audacity to park directly in front of the pawnshop. When he exited the car, stretching like a lazy tiger in the hot sun, he found himself encircled by law enforcement officers and staring into the barrels of multiple handguns. For a minute he looked stunned. Then he sneered, spit on the ground, and raised his hands. Hutch flung a triumphant look at Starsky and stepped forward to read the over-sized criminal his rights. Once Barry was in cuffs, Hutch turned and threw an arm around Starsky’s shoulders, leaving West in the custody of the uniformed officers.
“See, I told you. Like clockwork. God! It’s hot. I’m losing this vest right now.” Hutch shed his over-shirt and the vest in a clumsy set of moves somehow not involving the immediate removal of his gun and holster. The shot rang out in the still, sultry heat of mid-morning followed by a series of police weapon barks. Starsky swung around and observed Barry West crumpled on the asphalt.
“He broke the cuffs!” Wilkins screeched, astonished. “The damn gargantuan broke the—Oh, my God!” Starsky noticed the stare of the policeman and realized for the first time in the lightening fast chain of events that his partner no longer stood beside him. He fell to the ground beside the fallen blond, gathering him up into his arms and barely registering the puddle of blood.
“Hutch! Hutch…where ya hit? Hutch, talk to me!”
The policeman named Clary ran over from the cluster of uniformed officers and tried to shift Starsky’s hands. “I was a paramedic before I became a cop. Let me see…”
Starsky vaguely heard someone in the background say, “Get on the radio. Get Captain Dobey here now. Call an ambulance!”
Clary could not bring himself to look up into the spilling eyes of his superior officer. He hung his head, let his hand slip away from Hutch’s neck, and said to the crimson-coated pavement. “I—I’m s-sorry, Sergeant. He’s gone.”
“No,” Starsky said with a desperate, cold, matter-of-factness that chilled Clary. The dark-haired detective extended a blind hand and shoved Clary back. “Come on, Blondie, open those baby blues and look at me.”
Screeching tires, blaring siren, a slamming door, and then a familiar booming voice broke the sudden, mournful quiet. “I was just two blocks away…would someone tell me what the hell—Oh…no. No…”
Clary intercepted the portly black police captain. “He’s dead, Captain Dobey. Bullet caught him square in the upper left back. It was probably over before he hit the ground. West could’ve been an army sharpshooter.” The ambulance pulled up behind them and the uniformed officers still gathered in a clump at a respectful distance from the scene had to turn their heads from the sickening irony.
“He’s not DEAD!” Starsky yelled, cradling Hutch closer and bending his head over the lolling blond one.
“Dave… David…” Dobey’s hand clamped down on the quaking shoulder as the captain knelt on the street and shifted into paternal mode. Starsky lifted empty, staring eyes and focused on the strange mixture of kindness and anguish.
“No, ya don’t understand. He promised…after Gunther…he promised he’d never leave me. Hutch may pull some dumb stunts, but he don’t break promises. Not promises to me.”
“Mephistopheles!” Screamed a voice fairly quivering with righteous indignation. Mephisto thought that now would be a good time to tuck his tail between his legs and run…had he a tail to tuck. Really, why did humans have to insist that demons had tails? The indignity of it! Mephisto clambered up onto the pedestal housing the archangel and summoned all of his wits. “Got quite a kick out of that little stunt, didn’t you?” The archangel’s eyes flashed lightening.
“Well, you know, what they say about means and ends…” Mephisto waved his hands in a gesture of non-apologetic explanation.
“Oh, yes, you were the one whispering in Machiavelli’s ear.” The archangel radiated disdain.
“Anyway, we’ve kept the bargain,” Mephisto rationalized. “You’ll have his soul but at least we have him out of our hair on Earth. You should have known we’d have a contingency plan in case Lenore failed us. And it serves you right after snatching Faust. We must even things up, mustn’t we?”
The archangel smiled almost ominously in Mephisto’s opinion and gave way to a blinding, swirling Light. Mephistopheles cringed. Oh, No. Why did he have to face the firing squad when his boss, that fool of a fallen angel, was the one really responsible…
“Mephisto…” A VOICE to be reckoned with, it spoke of life, death, hurricanes, thunderstorms, mountain glaciers, newborn infants… “You delude yourself if you believe you can accomplish anything without My prior knowledge. You think you’ve won, Mephistopheles? Watch and learn what happens when you challenge Ultimate Love in a game of life and death…even among humans.”
Starsky had shrugged off at least two attempts to pry him from his partner. Dobey stood to the side with tears running down his face and gut-wrenching memories of Elmo Jackson flooding his mind. Suddenly Starsky’s entire body jerked.
“He’s… Somebody help me! He’s…. where’re the paramedics dammit!?”
Dobey sighed, and voice trembling, said, “David, you have to let go… he’s…”
“He moved!” Starsky flung back. “He moved his head. Clary!”
Clary heaved a weighty breath and stared sympathetically at Captain Dobey before he rushed over to Starsky’s side. He dropped to his knees and obligingly felt along the carotid. His eyes tripled in size and he turned around, shouting, “Get those paramedics over here, people, we’ve got a pulse. Don’t know how in hell… By God, we’ve got a pulse! Get on the horn to Memorial Receiving…have ‘em ready and waiting. This one’s gonna be close.”
Starsky clutched at Hutch’s shoulders and began to sob openly, “Come on, partner. Fight, Hutch! Can’t make it without ya, Blondie, ya know that!”
The paramedics carefully extricated the blond detective from his partner’s frenzied clasp and went to work. One of them tugged at a hand with the intention of inserting an IV but had to force open the clenched fingers. “What’s this in his hand?”
Starsky looked down. “He didn’t have anything…”
“He’s got some sort of paper…” The paramedic extracted the crumpled note and handed it to Starsky. His prime concern was getting the IV of saline solution going. Starsky stumbled backwards and into a strong arm that crept around his shoulder and squeezed. Dobey. Starsky stared at the flurry of activity around Hutch.
“What’s the paper, Starsky?” Dobey asked softly.
Starsky looked at it, barely seeing the script. “One of those notes,” he said, dazed, forgetting that he and Hutch had kept Dobey in the dark about the note adventures. He handed it to his captain without reading it, caring only about the attempts to stabilize his partner.
Dobey stared down at the elegant script. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger and you invited me in. I needed clothes and you clothed me. I was sick and you looked after me. I was in prison and you came to visit me. I tell you the truth, whatever you did for the least of one of these brethren of mine, you did for Me.
“Cap’n, you think… you think he’s gonna be…I mean…”
Dobey had to swallow hard and look away from the piercing sapphire gaze. He glanced down at the note again, put a hand over his heart, and then said slowly, firmly, “He’s going to be fine, Starsky. You can take it to the bank.”
Mephistopheles turned wide, terrified eyes on the swirl of Light. “But… but what about not tipping your hand… not interfering in the natural process…”
The Voice chuckled. “Oh, never fear, Mephisto… the hospital trauma surgeon will have some scientific explanation for Hutchinson’s timely recovery. A medical anomaly, they’ll call it, and cloak the miracle with flowery Latin words and hints about research grants.”
“But…”
“He passed the test, Mephistopheles, and you and your master couldn’t accept that he made the right choice. Just like you took out your frustrations on David last May when you failed to turn him from the right path. I mean, really, after all David suffered in the line of duty during the year his beloved Terry came home to Me… that you should choose to inflict Kira on him! Low, Mephisto, even for you. She’s one of your specialists, and even she couldn’t break him. That stung, didn’t it, Mephisto? But this time you were especially disappointed because you thought you had a foolproof plan with Hutchinson. Lenore: beauty, seduction, and no real hint of evil anywhere…but no real love either. You should have learned by now that Hutchinson’s heart is bigger than one other portion of his anatomy.” Mephisto’s eyes widened another impossible inch. The Voice laughed out loud this time. “The Infinite Creator having a sense of humor offends you, Mephisto?”
“You say he passed the test. You call that a test? Hungry kittens, a sick kid, a runaway hooker… That is supposed to be a cosmic test of will?”
“Ah, Mephistopheles…you never have grasped the Truth? Love, Mephistopheles, is important in any form. Love above all else, Mephisto, is Truth. Out of love comes charity, kindness, forgiveness, bravery, loyalty, self-sacrifice, devotion. Have you not witnessed all of these in their partnership since the beginning? You think it didn’t take great strength of will to walk into Diana’s room and offer her My peace? Love for the weakest, the neediest, the least liked…this is the greatest love of all. He passed the test.”
Just when Mephisto thought he was getting off easily and he turned to slink back down to his own realm, The Voice deepened, stern and authoritarian. “Now, listen closely, Mephistopheles, because I want you to be absolutely clear on what I’m about to say and you must relay this message to your master. Both of these men will have a place here. One day in the distant future their reward will be an eternity of all the beauty I have to offer them. But their work on Earth is not done. And when I decide it is time for them to be with Me, I will bring them home together. You will not break them. Or separate them. This must be understood.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Starsky scrunched down in the unyielding hospital chair and tried to close his eyes. He’d argued, fussed, and practically thrown a tantrum at the various nurses who paraded by and tried to convince him to go home and get some rest. There was no doubt in the mind of the trauma surgeon that Hutch would wake soon from his injury-induced slumber and Starsky was taking no chances on being absent when those beloved baby blues made their first appearance in over seventy-two hours.
He still remembered the look on the surgeon’s face when he came into the waiting room and confronted the crowd of police personnel who thirsted for news of the ‘miracle’ patient. He zeroed in on Starsky and stood, shaking his head as if trying to convince himself of an impossible fact. “Detective Starsky, my closest colleague treated you last year. For months your case was the most talked about in this entire hospital. You went from a 10% chance of survival to where you are now. We thought we’d seen everything. Well…you’ve been soundly beaten in that category.” He could tell Starsky was seconds away from meltdown so he rushed on. “My prognosis at this point is that Detective Hutchinson will make a full recovery—”
Starsky did indeed sway on his feet and Minnie wove through the crowd and gripped her favorite detective by the shoulders to steady him. The surgeon was rambling on about ventricular something-or-other, spontaneous-muscle-regeneration-whatever, and a few other scientific terms, but Starsky heard none of it. All he heard were the words ‘full recovery.’
Now he continued his silent vigil in Hutch’s ICU room surrounded by a myriad of fern, flowers, and various other creeping, crawling plants, all gifts from well-wishers who had heard the extraordinary story and wanted to bask in the glow of the miraculous. Doctors came by occasionally with a passel of interns in tow and discussed the scientific ramifications of Hutch’s recovery. Several representatives of differing religious faiths trailed into the room to murmur a few words over the medical impossibility whose heart monitor kept a steady bleeping that lulled Starsky to sleep at nights in the uncomfortable chair. Still Hutch slept and Starsky sat in the background, not paying much attention to the visitors or the fanfare, his heart simply maintaining commune with the one in Hutch’s chest that some doctors were calling ‘bionic’ in whispers not meant for lay people’s ears.
“Star…Starsky?”
Starsky shot from the chair cannon-ball fashion and landed awkwardly on the edge of Hutch’s bed. “Hey, baby blue, about time ya came out of that cat nap. I got a bone to pick with you.” The brilliant smile on Starsky’s face made an absolute lie of his last statement but Hutch was alert enough to manage a slight grin.
“What… bone?”
“I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna try my method of gettin’ the Dobey kid-gloves treatment.”
Hutch moved his head cautiously and took in his surroundings. “Wha’ happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
Hutch swallowed experimentally. “No… We got West…”
“Yes…” Starsky’s voice lowered an octave and he seemed about to leave it at that, but Hutch opened his eyes wider, recognized for the first time that he was hooked to noisy machines and IVs and demanded in a pleading stare for Starsky to come clean. “Hutch, you were shot.”
“H-how…when…h-how bad…?”
“Hey, why don’t we ring for the nurse an’ see if we can’t get ya some ice chips or somethin’. Bet you’re thirsty, huh? Maybe they’ll be real nice an’ let you have water.”
“Starsky…please…”
Starsky seized Hutch’s arm, pulled it from beneath the covers, and held onto it like a lifeline. “It all happened so fast, Hutch. Nobody was expectin’ it. West broke his cuffs. I mean, he was big…but still! Snapped ‘em like bad plastic. Grabbed Wilkins’ gun and got a shot off before they could drop him. You’d already gotten your vest off…”
Hutch refused to blink or relinquish Starsky’s gaze. “How…bad?” he repeated.
“You’re here, Hutch. You’re gonna be fine. Your body jus’ needed some extra sleep to pull itself back together. You’ve been breathin’ on your own for the last 24 hours.”
“What…aren’t…you telling me?”
Starsky shivered. He didn’t want to put it into words…some part of him was afraid if he did the miracle would fade and he’d be standing in front of a gravestone somewhere. But Hutch’s eyes demanded absolute honesty and he was powerless as always to deny the blond anything. “You were gone, Hutch. I’m not talkin’ cardiac arrest in the ER. I’m talkin’ out on the pavement, shut down, nothing there. Just when I was gettin’ ready to admit to myself I’d…” Starsky’s voice broke, “I’d re-really lost you, y-your head moved a-against my chest. Suddenly you had a pulse. So we got the paramedics workin’ on you and got you here double-quick.”
Hutch made the starched white hospital sheets look beige by contrast. “M-my h-heart?”
Starsky grinned. “That’s just it, Hutch. Your heart’s fine. By the time the trauma surgeons got ya opened up…Oh, hell, they made noises about the bullet trajectory, and undetectable pulse, and some big fancy words about ventricular-something. Half a dozen doctors all got different medical explanations. Some wanna turn ya into a research project but I said they could do that over my dead body… Dobey takes a different view. Ain’t been a single cuss word outta him since that morning and Edith says he’s vowed to go to church three days a week.”
Hutch choked on an attempt at laughter. “What…do you…think?”
Starsky lifted the arm he held and buried his face like a child in the palm of Hutch’s hand. “Aw, buddy… I always thought you were kinda special, you know? And I’ve caught myself reciting some stuff I thought I forgot a few days after my Bar Mitzvah. But I think… the Big Guy just wasn’t ready to have someone up there tellin’ him what to do all the time.”
The quaver in Starsky’s voice told Hutch that the oddly timed joke was his partner’s way of dealing with intense emotion. Then Hutch felt warm moisture in his palm and jerked his hand away, using it to tousle Starsky’s curls. “Hey, don’t you…dare…cry,” he admonished. “You’ll have…me…crying…and I think it would hurt like nobody’s business.”
Starsky snuffled and sat up straight, mother hen instincts on high idle. “Yeah, the doc said to expect some residual soreness.”
“Residual soreness? My chest feels … danced the can-can on me…wearing steel-toed boots.” Hutch’s grin was definitely larger by now. “There any…reason…I feel like I’m in the Amazon Rainforest?”
That earned Hutch a hearty chuckle. “Yeah…well, you’ve been on the news, pal. Next thing I know this room turned into the main bus station during mornin’ rush hour. Lila and her aunt came by…Theo had a nurse wheel him up here. And little Will couldn’t come in the room because of that pneumonia, but since he’s off the IV, Mike carried him up here and let him peek through the window at you. Then there were people I didn’t even know…they’d come to the door and ask if they could step in for a minute. The doctors have been pretty lax about visitin’ hours. I don’t think they know what to do with ya, Blintz. Anyway, seems just about everybody who came by had some kinda growin’ thing with ‘em.”
“Why didn’t…they…wait till I was awake?”
Starsky’s face turned solemn. “Honest? I think…I’m not sure they know what to say to ya, Captain Marvel. You’ve pulled some outrageous stunts in your time, but this hasta be one of your finest hours. Even Dobey’s voice gets awe-struck whenever he says your name.”
“Oh, God.”
“Literally.”
Hutch burst out laughing and then coughed violently. “I’m… still mortal, Starsky.”
“Oh, absholutely, schweetheart. So don’t think about jumpin’ out in fronta any bullets. And don’t worry: Dobey’ll get over it real quick. He’d implode if he couldn’t snipe at us.”
The merry expression died out of Hutch’s eyes. “Will I…be able to work?”
Starsky smiled. “Sure, partner. You’ll be in here awhile…then they’ll put ya through all kindsa tests, make sure your ticker keeps actin’ right, but after that it’s smooth sailin’–”
A sudden noise behind them and Starsky turned as a tall nurse with long red hair tied back in a braid entered the room. She was a vision of how Pippi Longstocking would have looked had she grown up to be a super model. She smiled at both men, wandered around checking the machines and IV bags, and then beamed down at the patient. “So Lazarus is awake. Need anything? Are you hurting?”
Hutch was staring at her. Starsky laughed. “I think he’s a bit sore. Need anythin’ for the pain, buddy?” Hutch shook his head, eyes still locked on the nurse. “Nope, Colleen. I think he’s doin’ fine. When he’s recovered his speech, he might like your phone number, though.”
Colleen grinned. “Well, I’ll be around. Just pound on the call-button if you need me. Dr. Morgan will probably be in here shortly after I report that you’re conscious.” With a wink and a chuckle, she turned and disappeared. Hutch breathed deeply.
“She’s…she’s…wow!”
“My thoughts exactly. I think she has a soft spot for you, golden boy. She’s been taking good care o’ya. Her brother’s a priest. He was in here yesterday. Real nice guy. Coulda been in big league baseball, Colleen told me, but he chose Seminary instead.”
“Choices…” Hutch murmured.
“Huh?”
“Just…a dream I had…something about Lenore and San Francisco…and a cross-roads… and…the notes…doesn’t matter…not important. Starsk…we’re gonna have to take Huggy and Aunt Hattie out… for a big, gourmet meal.”
“Yeah, Huggy’s been hiding in the shadows of the waiting room. I think he’s afraid I’ll knock him down or somethin’. Like it’s his fault his aunt has some strange kinda calendar nobody else got.”
“Hey…you know what kind of calendar I want, Starsk?”
“One with two extra free weekends each month?” Starsky smirked, but the serious light in Hutch’s eyes turned the teasing expression to a soft but unsteady smile.
“Nope…lots of days with you, buddy.”
“Trust me, Hutch: you’ll think you’ve grown a second shadow.”
THE END
Chapter End Notes: Mephistopheles borrowed from and returned unharmed to Goethe: Faust I & II
The theme of serving Divinity by serving the needs of everyday people inspired by Tolstoy’s “Where Love Is, God Is.”
Thanks to all the people in ThePits who answered some of my questions while I was finishing this up. Love to all. Peace be with you. –Anna M
Have any thoughts?
Share your reaction or leave a quick response — we’d love to hear what you think!
-
0
-
0
-
0
-
0
-
0
-
0
