Firestorm

Hutch is furious that fellow cops are dope dealers, and Starsky tries to settle him down.

Missing scene from Snowstorm.

Hutch smacked the bar top at Huggy Bear’s hard with the flat of his hand, causing Starsky to jump.

“Hutch,” Starsky said softly, calmly, hoping his partner’s growing fury would settle down.

“Don’t ‘Hutch’ me, Starsky. Our ‘brother’ cops are probably thieves and killers. I certainly can’t live with that. Or not get madder than hell. What about you, Starsk?” he said, challenging Starsky with both his angry tone and eyes that could scorch anything that got too close.

Starsky stole a quick glance at Huggy, who was glaring at them for disturbing the peace. He tilted his head in an apology at the same time he took Hutch’s elbow. “Come on, partner. Not so loud. We can talk about this some place a little more private, okay?”

Hutch’s jaw muscles tightened and he shifted from one foot to the other repeatedly, like a live rocking horse ridden by an overly energetic kid. Yet he didn’t pull away from Starsky’s soft grip. After several long moments, he nodded, albeit reluctantly.

Starsky sighed his relief as he tugged Hutch into a nearby storeroom. They barely fit in the close quarters.

“Hey, buddy,” Starsky started, who noted Hutch hadn’t made eye contact since his first pronouncement about bad cops involved in this case. Undaunted, Starsky continued, “Look, Hutch, you’re probably right. All th’ arrows point to cops. But we can’t go around bad-mouthin’ our people in public. That ain’t right, no matter how dirty they are.”

Hutch exhaled audibly through his nose. “Yeah, you’re right, Starsky. It just… galls me to think any cop would be filth. And a murderer to boot.” His agitation began to climb again and he would’ve paced if he and Starsky weren’t imitating tinned sardines.

“Me, too. It hurts a lot but we both know bad cops ain’t nothing new. We jus’ gotta be careful before accusing anybody of anything ’til we got some evidence.”

Starsky’s soothing voice had a negligible effect on Hutch’s irritability. He looked Starsky square in the eyes, his own exuding fierce impatience. “Careful?” asked Hutch stridently. “Tell that to Crandall! You gotta know we both suspect the same person, so screw that wait-and-see jive talk.”

Starsky sagged against the shelf behind him. “No jive talk, Hutch.”

“Then what’s your goddamn problem?” Hutch ranted. “I thought you’d be ready to go berserk all over Corman’s ass.”

Now Starsky’s temper ignited. He stood straight, body tense against Hutch’s equally tense body. “Shut up, Hutch! No names. We don’t know who can hear us. We need evidence first!”

Hutch stuck his index finger on Starsky’s chest. “You better tell me why you’re being so damn cautious. And I ain’t buying it’s about respecting our brother cops’ rights.” “Brother” was said with unmistakable disdain.

Starsky’s nostrils flared. He said in a hushed, almost violent voice, “It’s because-a Pop, okay? After he was shot down, his — our — own kind blabbed it all over Brooklyn that it was because he was on the take and wanted more. But he wasn’t on the take. Ma woulda left him. She wouldn’t’ve stood for it for a New York minute.” He drew in a ragged breath. “The investigation cleared him, but there was still doubt. Still is. Cops coverin’ for one of their own.”

Hutch slumped, the head of steam he had built up dissipating rapidly. He averted his eyes before enveloping Starsky’s body, quaking from working so hard to hold back tears and rage, in his arms and resting his head on Starsky’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he whispered in his best friend’s ear.

It took Starsky several deep breaths to get to the point where he could talk. “’Sokay, Hutch. You didn’t know that part of the story.”

Hutch gave him a gentle squeeze before releasing him. “Shall we go gather that evidence then bring it to Dobey?”

Starsky patted Hutch’s cheek and smiled. “Better evidence than rosebuds.”

Before Hutch could react, there was a loud knock on the door. “Hey, you two gluttonious personages better not be eatin’ up my inventory.”

The partners looked at each other then laughed silently.

“Starsky’s the only glutton in here, Hug. And, just so you know, gluttonious is not a word.”

Starsky crushed the snicker that threatened to erupt; instead, he gave Hutch a grin.

“It is now. Just vamoose so I can get what I need to feed my hungry customers, ya dig?” Huggy opened the door to find his friends staring at him, looking like two cats who just ate an aria of canaries. “Will you get out?”

“Oh, sure, Huggy,” Hutch said pleasantly. He brushed past the tall, thin man, nodded his head, smiled sweetly.

Starsky was right on Hutch’s heels but stopped then patted Huggy’s shoulder. “Just a sec.” He went back into the storeroom and snatched a large bag of pretzels. As he passed his childhood friend, Starsky said, “Put it on Hutch’s tab.”

the end
July 2019