Harold’s Dilemma

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Captain Dobey is worried about Starsky and Hutch, but can’t seem to find the right person to give him advice on how to handle it.

 

This story originally appeared in the SHareCon 2004 zine.

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“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.” –-1 Corinthians 13: 13.

 

Sunday morning, May 13, 1979

“Let all mortal flesh keep silence,” Captain Dobey rumbled out in his deep bass, “and with fear and trembling stand.” He took a deep breath, launching into the rest of the first verse. “Ponder nothing earthly minded, for with blessings in his hand; Christ on earth descendeth, our full homage to demand.”

Ponder nothing earthly-minded? he thought, disgusted with himself. Our full homage to demand? He hadn’t given much homage to his Savior this morning; all he’d been able to do for the entire service was ponder his earthly problems. He didn’t remember one word of the sermon.

Cleo Paige was their organist and he didn’t cut them any slack. They plodded through all four verses before Harold was able to shut his hymnal in relief. It was as if a spell were broken once services were finally over. Cal seemed to come back to life, Rosie stopped fidgeting, and even Edith seemed more animated, now that church had wound down again for another week.

“Harold, dear, are you sure you have to work this afternoon?”

He was nodding his head even as his wife spoke. “Sorry, Edie. You know, I try to make Sundays ours. But with all the paperwork–”

She was the definition of patient understanding. “Yes, I know.”

And Dobey knew that she understood, as she always did. The one difference this time was that he was flat-out lying to her. He cast his eyes down, studying the carpeting.

Edith was addressing her children now. “Rose, Cal, let’s go.” Rose, always polite, was waiting for her mother to move first. Cal nearly barreled her over, pushing out of the pew.

“After your mother, young man!”

In a flurry of pink dresses and one flamboyant gray-on-gray suit, the three other Dobeys were gone. Harold stood by himself for a minute. But there was no point in putting it off, and if he waited too long, the pastor might head home. With a heavy tread, Dobey walked to the back of the church, towards the church offices.

Arriving at an office door marked simply with the name of their minister, Dobey knocked.

“Come in?”

He opened the door, looking within at the neat bookcases, the pale blue carpeting, and the tall, clear glass windows. The sun was shining full in. Beautiful May day today was. Harold wished he were home, with a beer in his hand and his special stuffed burgers on the grill. He wished he were anywhere but here.

“Harold!” In a flash, the other man was out of his seat with his hand outstretched. “Good to see you!”

“Reverend Darrison,” Dobey responded gravely, pulling his mind back to the task at hand. “Good to see you as well.”

“Come in, come in! Have a seat.” The tall, angular man was already at his coffee maker. “Cream? Sugar?”

“Yes, please.”

“Here you go,” he offered, handing Dobey a cup of coffee, liberally doctored with non-dairy creamer and sugar.

“Thanks.”

“So, Harold…what can I do for you?” Darrison seated himself behind his desk, straightening up the papers strewn there while keeping his eyes on his visitor. The minister was obviously ‘clearing the decks’ for anything Dobey needed to talk about.

Dobey turned his coffee cup around in his hands. This wasn’t something he wanted to talk about to his preacher. He didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, but he had to. He’d worried about this for weeks and had gotten exactly nowhere with it. He didn’t have the nerve to talk to Edith and there was no way he could confide in anyone at the station. His minister seemed like the best–the only–place to come.

Desperate men turn to God, he reminded himself. So it couldn’t hurt to run this by God’s representative, right? “Well…” His voice trailed off. He really didn’t have the nerve to talk about this.

“Something to do with work, no doubt,” the reverend offered, compassionately.

Dobey nodded, looking up at him. “Yes. It does.”

Darrison was quiet, patient as Harold gathered his thoughts.

“Really, it’s not work so much. Not as much as it’s, as it is some of my people.”

The minister merely nodded, encouragingly.

“My people. Two of my people.”

“I know how much you care about the policemen you work with.”

“I do. But these two in particular.” Dobey took a deep breath. “I think you might remember them. Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. They were instrumental in stopping Leo Moon. You’ll recall him, the ex-police officer that tried to–”

Darrison smiled. “Of course I remember. That’s something that’s hard to forget.”

Dobey agreed. “Yes, indeed. It might be hard to forget that, but it’s impossible to forget all Starsky and Hutch did for me. For my family. All they have done for us.”

As Dobey paused, Darrison asked the obvious question. “So, what’s the problem?”

“They themselves are, I guess… They’re partners, you know.”

“Meaning they work together,” Darrison clarified.

“Yes. Exactly. But these two men…they do a lot more than just work together.”

“Not sure I follow?”

“They’re best friends. Hutch, he’s divorced, and Starsky’s one really serious woman, girlfriend, well, she was killed…so it’s really just them. Been just them for a long time. They date–date women–but it never lasts. It never works out. They spend all their time together. I mean, all their time. They eat together, they go out together, they socialize, pretty much, with only each other.”

Dobey paused, thinking over the partners’ recent past. But it was the same familiar story. They still went through women like tissue paper. Yes, for a while he’d thought Hutch might make a go of it with Allison, and Starsky had seemed very interested in Kira…but both these women were gone now, just like all the others. And Starsky and Hutch were still together.

“Only with each other?”

“Well, they have some friends…a guy that snitches for them, and they’re close friends of my family, of course–Rosie adores them–but other than that, they, they practically live in each other’s pocket.”

The clergyman looked puzzled. “Live?”

Harold warmed to his topic. “They have their own apartments, don’t misunderstand, but whenever I have to call them in–for example, in the middle of the night for an investigation that has to get off the dime right away–I never get one without the other one being there, too.”

“At the same apartment.”

“Yes. Sometimes it’s Starsky’s place, sometimes it’s Hutch’s…but it’s never Starsky at Starsky’s apartment and Hutch at Hutch’s. They’re always together.”

Darrison’s eyes had widened the longer Dobey

had talked. “You think–?”

“I think they’re getting too close.” Dobey began worrying at the fabric of his pants. “I’m afraid of what will happen to them if they don’t set limits.”

“Set limits?”

“Set limits. If they let themselves get too close, never mind what could happen if one of them gets hurts, someone could find out. The wrong people could find out. IA could find out…” Dobey elaborated. “Internal Affairs,” and then continued, “… and they could get in big, big trouble. They could lose their–”

“Souls! You’re talking about two men, loving each other!”

Dobey looked at his minister, startled. “They do love each other, of course. That’s always been–”

“And you’ve never intervened? You’ve never separated them? You’ve never done anything?”

“Reverend.” Dobey’s voice was firm. “There’s nothing wrong with them loving each other like brothers. Like I loved my partner, when I was in the field. Or Isaac Douglas. He was my best friend. But if they’ve crossed the line–”

“If you’re calling them at three in the morning, and you’re not sure which one will answer the phone, it’s obvious they’ve crossed all the lines.”

Dobey paused. Just last week, he’d called Hutch’s place and Starsky had answered, all cranky from being awoken. And yes, it had been the middle of the night. And despite his ill-temper, Starsky hadn’t sounded like he wanted to be anywhere else but at Hutch’s.

“Well, what should I do?” he asked, a bit despairingly. This was the crux of his problem. “What’s the best way I can handle this? So that they don’t get in trouble.” So I can protect them.

“Honestly, Harold, I can’t believe you are asking me this. What should you do? You should witness to them, explain what danger they are in–”

“Danger?”

“Yes, danger. I can give you references…” the man reached behind him for his Bible, “…it’s right here.” Darrison flipped a few pages and then read, rapidly, “‘If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them.'”

“Reverend Darrison,” Dobey said, affronted even as his heart was sinking, “I’m not asking you for a sermon. I know my Bible. I know what it says. I’ve also seen that Jesus–our Savior–doesn’t say anything about homosexuality.”

He had seen that. In fact, he’d spent Friday night looking over Edith’s huge reference Bible for that very issue. The more he’d researched it, the more he’d been convinced that the Old Testament diatribes against homosexuality had really been directed at other practices, other sins. Not one man loving, truly and monogamously loving, another man.

“Homosexuality is a sin! If you want to talk New Testament, see what Paul said in Romans about men that abandoned natural relations and lusted after each other. He says clearly that they were committing indecent acts with other men and received the due penalty of their perversion.” Darrison’s voice was overly loud for the small office.

Dobey lowered his in response. “The Bible says certain practices are sins. Debauchery. Promiscuity. Drunkenness. Not specifically, homosexuality. I don’t recall–”

“Then you need to sit down and do some reading in this area, Harold. I’ll give you the cites you need. But right now, you have to act. You have to break this up, before your own soul is in danger of being lost.”

“I’m not overly worried about my soul,” Dobey returned calmly. “I don’t need an exorcism. I had wanted your advice on how to handle this, seeing as they are both police officers, partners, men who put themselves in a fair amount of danger every day in service to the people of this city. I wanted to make sure I’m doing right by them, not exposing them to disciplinary action that–”

“Harold! The only way you can do right by them is to end this egregious situation. Now.”

Dobey didn’t answer. He’d never, ever been attracted to another man, but he didn’t automatically see it as wrong. That being said, he didn’t automatically see it as right either. That was why he was here, to get some guidance, some wise, godly counsel. To figure out the right thing to do, even if what he should do was do nothing at all.

But what he needed, he wasn’t getting.

He didn’t know what was right, what to believe. But Darrison doesn’t begin to have the answer. Dobey knew that. Yet even as he was starting to stand up to excuse himself, Dobey didn’t know what to do next. By the time he was on his feet, though, he knew.

~~~

Sunday afternoon

“Cap’n Dobey!” Huggy came around from behind the bar. The surprise in his voice was clear. “What’s happenin’?”

Dobey walked farther into the bar, which was still fairly deserted, and looked around in the dim light. After the unrelenting sunlight of the bright spring afternoon, his eyes weren’t adjusting too quickly. “I’m looking for Starsky and Hutch.”

“Oh,” Huggy nodded, understandingly. “Gonna crack the whip?”

“What?”

“They have a gig?”

“A gig?” Dobey was utterly confused.

Huggy looked annoyed. “A job. Somebody offed somebody and you need your best.”

Dobey smiled a little. “No. Nothing like that. I just want to talk to them. They here?”

Huggy shook his head, making a final sweep of the polished bar with his cloth. “They were, indeed, but they split.” He glanced at a nearby clock. “About two, three hours ago.”

“You were open at 10 am? A bar?”

“For my friends? My humble establishment is always open for them. Anyhow, they were just stoppin’ by.”

“Yes?” So where are they now?

“Yeah. Hutch was dragging tall, dark, and handsome to some museum. Some place down on Wilshire. Bunches of modem paintings.”

“Oh, Starsky’ll love that.”

“You ain’t kidding,” Huggy agreed. “Curly was thrilled out his gourd.”

Huggy then looked at Dobey appraisingly, just long enough for an uncomfortable silence to build. “I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you’ve been in here.”

Dobey heard the question behind the statement. “Yeah.”

“So?”

Dobey hefted himself up on a barstool. “Just need to talk to them.”

“Yeah?” It was a line cast towards Dobey, fishing for information.

“Yeah.” Dobey refused to be drawn in.

The two men looked at each other evenly. There’d never been too much love lost between Huggy and Dobey. In fact, there’d been times in the past when they’d had trouble being civil to each other. Sometimes it was only Starsky and Hutch who’d kept the two of them on speaking terms.

Time had healed…they’d started to thaw out their relations just as Starsky and Hutch had started to have more trouble in theirs. Huggy and Dobey had grown closer as Starsky and Hutch had grown apart.

But now the two men were wary of each other. It was clear in Huggy’s expression that he didn’t quite trust Dobey.

And Dobey didn’t quite trust Huggy. But on the other hand, he knew that he didn’t know the partners as well as Huggy did, not when it came to personal matters. He needed to figure this out. In that way, he needed Huggy.

Huggy seemed to read him perfectly. “You got something on your mind. Let’s hear it.”

Dobey was flabbergasted. Huggy sounded almost hostile, and that wasn’t what he ever expected from the easy-going man. It got his back up. “Yeah, I have something on my mind. Something I want to talk over with Starsky and Hutch. Not with you.”

“I’ll do.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Well, this is their day off. Some time for them to spend together, relaxing. They don’t need–”

“Time to spend together? They’re always together,” Dobey sputtered. “They don’t need a day off–”

“Yeah, they do.”

“–just to have time to spend together,” he clarified. “That’s all I meant.”

“Well, if I see ’em again today, I’ll tell them you were by.” Huggy hardly sounded like himself: so serious, so intense. A lot of his street demeanor had slipped away.

Dobey stared at him. “You’re the one that seems to have something on your mind, Huggy.”

“And that’s where it’s gonna stay. On my mind. Between my ears. Minding my own business.”

“Since when have you done that?” Dobey retaliated.

“More often than you know. You might try it.”

“These are my men, I’ll remind you of that!”

“Your men? You own them body and soul now? Anyhow, ‘your men’ are entitled to some privacy.”

“OK, let’s have it.” Dobey was leaning forward on the bar.

“Forget it.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that–”

Huggy’s face was unreadable. “Entitled to their privacy.”

“They’re living together. Aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question, and as Dobey waited for a response, he dimly registered the fact that two women were arguing, vehemently, back in the kitchen. He couldn’t believe Huggy wasn’t going back there to break it up.

“Privacy.”

“Huggy, this is important. I have to know.”

Huggy laughed, a bitter, discordant sound. “Really? I didn’t think they came over to your house, poking around.”

“No, and I’m not living with my partner. I’m not living with the one person charged with watching my back, keeping me between the lines, by the book, out of trouble. On the straight and narrow. ”

“Y ou do what works for you; they do what works for them.”

“It can’t work for them if it’s against policy.”

“Oh, why don’t you flush the Joe Friday routine, just this one damn time?”

That was unfair, but Dobey hardly heard it. He was frustrated, heading rapidly towards angry. “Because! You know what could happen to them if anyone found out?”

“I have an idea. But it don’t matter, because no one’s going to find out.”

“I–”

“No one is going to find out. If certain peoples can just mind their own business.”

“Huggy–”

Huggy shook his head. “We got nothing more to say.” He moved his head slightly, listening, and now Dobey could hear one of the women crying. Huggy started to move away from the bar, towards the kitchen.

“How long have you known?” Dobey was resigned now.

“Nothing more to say.”

“When did all this happen?” Under my nose? And I’m just now figuring it out…great detective, I am.

“Nothing. More. To. Say.” Huggy straightened up. “Good of you to drop by.”

“Huggy, I swear–”

“I have the right to refuse service. And I’m refusing it to you.”

“You’re making a mistake.” I’m the one person that can help them, help them keep their badges!

Utter silence reigned–apparently the women in the kitchen had settled their differences. Huggy glared at him.

“I can help them. I have helped them.” I will help them.

Just then, there was the sound of crashing plates back in the kitchen. Without another word, Huggy trotted off, leaving Dobey sitting there feeling completely out of place.

~~~

Sunday evening

“Harold?”

Dobey started. He’d been lost in thought. “Yes?”

“You going to finish changing?”

He’d been standing there with his pajama top in his hand. “What?”

Edith indicated the dark blue garment, then their bed, with a nod of her head. “You need to get some sleep, baby. You must be very tired.”

She was staring at him with compassionate eyes and Harold knew that she knew.

“I have a problem, Edie.”

She nodded, wordlessly.

“It’s about the boys.”

She nodded again.

“I’m worried about them.”

Edith sat down on the bed, carefully arranging the folds of her pink nightgown around her. “That must have been the important paperwork you had to get to this afternoon at the office.”

“I didn’t go to the office.”

She cocked her head, waiting. Dobey suddenly realized that his revelation was no surprise to his wife.

“I talked to Reverend Darrison, and got nowhere with him. And talked to Huggy, and got nowhere with him.”

“Huggy Bear? Why in the world did you go see him?”

Dobey smiled wryly. His antipathy towards Huggy was no secret to his wife. In a few words, he outlined the gist of what Darrison had said, and what Huggy hadn’t said.

Edith didn’t think much of his plan of attack. He saw it on her face before she said a word.

“Let’s see, Harold. You talked to Reverend Darrison about this, a minister in a church hierarchy that not forty years ago turned a blind eye to the Lynchings…”

Harold shook his head. The widespread lynching of Negroes in the South prior to World War II was a cause célèbre of his wife’s, one he didn’t feel quite so strongly about. In his mind, it was like blaming Germans for the Holocaust. Most Germans had had nothing to do with Nazism. Likewise, he was fairly certain no one in their congregation had ever murdered a single black person.

But he knew better than to argue the point with her, so he schooled his face to reflect polite interest. Edith was still talking. “…so this is the last thing you should be asking Dick Darrison about. He’s not going to go out on a limb for this any more than they did for us. You know that!”

“I do, now,” Dobey conceded, gracefully. “Now, tell me why I shouldn’t have talked to Huggy.”

“Because you don’t really respect him, and he knows it, and he’s not going to tell you anything that might hurt Starsky and Hutch. You don’t think you can shake his loyalty to them, do you? I hope you don’t.”

Dobey had to agree. He surely didn’t think that, not after this afternoon.

Edith and he looked at each other for a moment.

“Well, Harold, why don’t you invite them over?” Edith’s tone was a shade condescending.

“Starsky and Hutch? Here?”

“Of course, them. Of course, here,” Edith said, with a smile. “They haven’t been over in so long. Not since last summer, I don’t think.”

Harold stared at his wife, blankly. “For dinner?”

“Yes. We’ll have a nice roast, and then Rose, Cal, and I can watch some TV upstairs while you talk to Starsky and Hutch.”

“About what?”

Edith shook her head, bemused. “About this. About how concerned you are.”

“I am concerned.” That was the understatement of the year.

Edith paused a moment. Her whole attitude had softened and Dobey realized she was worried, she was questioning, too. “I think you should be. I know…I know they’re close, but…”

“You think they’re–they’re too close.” Gently, she asked, “What does that mean to you, Harold? Too close?”

Dobey was annoyed, and he started to pull on his pajama top. “You know. Don’t make me spell it out.”

“I don’t care about the sex,” Edith told him, bluntly. “Sometimes I think that’s all you men think about. What about their hearts? What about their ability to handle their jobs, when they’re partnered up with the only other person in their lives that gives them any meaning?”

“They have friends.” Like the infamous Huggy, for example.

“They might, yes. But those friends are nothing to them, after each other. You know that.”

“That’s the way we are.”

“Yes. And we’re husband and wife.”

Her face plainly announced, And that’s my point. She stood up. “We need to get to bed. You invite them over, now.”

“Okay. That’s not a bad idea.”

Edith grinned. “Of course it’s a good idea. That’s the only kind of idea I get. How about Thursday? After all the painting and the chaos that’s going on, you guys need a break!”

Dobey’s face dropped as he moved towards the master bathroom. “Don’t remind me. It’s a mess. I don’t know how–”

“Harold. Don’t start. I know. How does the commissioner expect you to run a division–”

Dobey chimed in with his wife, “–while they have my entire offices tom up.”

“It’ll be okay, dear. Trust me. You’ve survived the painting so far. You’ll survive until it’s done. So will everyone else there.”

~~~

Very early Monday morning, May 14, 1979

Edith started awake, her heart pounding. She looked over at the clock. Two-thirty in the morning.

What’s wrong with you? she asked herself sternly and silently. Her heart was really pounding as if she’d been running. She rested her hand on her nightgown, over her heart.

Harold slept on.

Okay, Edith Rose, you calm down. Right now. Yet, she couldn’t. She had an overwhelming sense of unease. She watched her husband sleeping, ensuring that she saw his chest move up and down a few times with his deep and regular breathing.

Carefully getting out of bed, she slipped her feet into her slippers and padded silently out of the bedroom. Glancing back at the last moment, she saw Harold still peacefully asleep.

She walked down the hall, looking in first on her daughter, then her son. Rosie was curled up with her stuffed monkey, the one that Harold insisted she put away–at nine, she was far too old to sleep with a stuffed animal–an edict that Edith had quietly overruled. Cal was sound asleep, his growing body needing both large quantities of food, as she well knew, and deep, long periods of sleep.

She was still upset. She carefully descended the carpeted staircase and checked the locks. All secure. The oven and the range were off. The refrigerator door was safely shut. The view of the sky from the breakfast nook window was cloudless. She could see the moon, just past full, illuminating the sky.

Nothing was wrong.

Then why was she so agitated? She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the milk. Milk and cookies. Perfect way to relax.

Edith sat down and thoughtfully munched on a cookie. You’re just tired, Edie, she scolded herself. Nothing’s wrong and even if something were… God will give you the strength to handle it. ‘I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.’

It all sounded good, but she couldn’t shake her disquiet. She shut her eyes to pray, speaking softly. “Lord, protect and preserve my family.” She cast her mind over the concerns her loved ones had. “Let Rosie pass that spelling test. Let Cal be picked to start the game this Friday. Help him do very well on his math challenge.”

She turned her attention to her husband. “Help Harold deal with whatever happens with Starsky and Hutch, in accordance with your will.” She smiled to herself. “Let him continue to handle the great painting experiment.”

She concluded as she always did, with the one mantra that she must have prayed a thousand times. “Keep him and all police officers everywhere, safe and protected in Your care. Let reckless drivers run out of fuel, let angry citizens be calm, let all bullets, all harm, and all evil, pass them by.”

Edith got up then, rinsed out her glass, and decided to head back to bed. She looked at the calendar on the wall as she headed back upstairs. It was just visible from the glow of the streetlights through the sheer curtains of the kitchen window.

Maybe Tuesday night would be better for the boys to come over, she thought, out of the blue. Tuesday was the 15th, and as she thought about it, she recalled that Rosie’s Camp Fire meeting had been moved to Thursday for the upcoming week. And Cal’s practice is Wednesday.

Yes, Tuesday would be the best night for the dinner. It would give the three men plenty of time to relax after dinner, to hash things out, to restore the balance Harold always tried to maintain between being their boss, and being their friend.

She knew in her heart that all they needed was a good conversation and everything would work out. She made a mental note to remind Harold about it in the morning.

THE END.