Hutch’s Soliloquy

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With the stress of three assassination attempts, the worry and lack of sleep, Hutch starts rambling and talking to the one person he needs most.

 

How hard would it have been for Hutch to go home the first night of the Gunther shooting? And, did you ever wonder what that nurse was reading in Starsky’s room? (If your DVD has clearer resolution than mine and you can read the title, I don’t wanna know! Well, maybe I do.) Lastly, I know they didn’t show that Starsky’s chest had been shaved, but, in reality, it would have been. Completed: September 2006.

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Scene I — Morning of the Day After

“My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep.”
— King Richard III (Act I, Scene IV)

 

Mornin’, Starsk. Miss me? Guess not, ’cause I see you’re still asleep on the job, just the same as when I left.

There’s been no change, Nurse?

Okay. Thanks for staying with him.

I haven’t been gone too long this time, have I, buddy? They sent me home last night. Well, I guess 2:30 was technically this morning. … At least I got to sit here with you awhile first. I told you a little about where I’d been and what had happened. Remember? That’s about the time Dobey and Huggy came in and stopped my rambling, then started fussing about my wrist and told me I needed to go home and get some sleep.

Sleep? Tell me how I was supposed to do that. I mean, after the thing with the guys in the garage, booking Jenny Brown and then getting back down here right after you … Dobey expected me “to sleep, perchance to dream”? Yeah, right.

I suppose getting caught by Dobey with my eyes half closed and talking in crazy circles to you didn’t help my case any, did it? He even had a black-‘n’-white unit come to the ER and taxi me home just to make sure I left. I didn’t need a damned escort home. It’s your driving they’re supposed to mistrust, partner, not mine. Or maybe Dobey didn’t really trust me with his car any more? Gee, can’t imagine why.

You know what? He didn’t even yell at me when he found out that I’d rammed his car into that worthless-piece-of-shit mechanic’s car. I guess he was relieved that I hadn’t rammed it into the worthless-piece-of-shit mechanic! At least he might try explaining my “loss of control” to his insurance company by blaming it on my wrist. Maybe my hand slipped on the steering wheel or something? I’m sure they won’t be too fond of the idea that some maniac cop hell-bent for revenge … no … scratch that … hell-bent for justice? … no … oh, hell, I don’t know … just that a crazy man had been given the keys to Dobey’s car.

Hey, now don’t worry about my wrist, Starsk. I only brought it up because you already heard Dobey and Huggy make a needless scene over it. It’s really fine. But if you’d been awake last night … this morning … whatever … I know you’d’ve sided with the rest of ’em, making me go to the lousy ER when all I wanted to do was stay longer here with you. Admit it, buddy. I’m not the only worrywart in this partnership. You can be a real nag when you want to be.

You know that’s the only reason I left you again so soon, don’t you? They made me. Dobey, Hug, the doctors, nurses — all of ’em ganged up on me. So, I gave in and agreed to leave for a little while. The kicker was that I didn’t want you worrying with the way they were all making a big deal just because I had a little blood on my sleeve and that stupid red bandanna on my wrist. You’ve got enough to do without worrying about me … enough to do … like working on waking up for me. I … I really need for you to wake up for me, partner.

Hey, I just realized something. That was your stupid red bandanna. I don’t even know how it ended up in my pocket.

Seems like our stuff keeps doing that, showing up in each other’s cars or apartments or jacket pockets, doesn’t it? I’m not quite sure what that says about us, pal, leaving our crap wherever we crashed last. Are we getting old and senile? Maybe I am. I feel a thousand years old today anyway. But, not you, at least not the old part. You’ve got more energy than most five-year-olds I’ve met. … Hey, dummy, you’re supposed to be giving me hell about the “senile” part.

But, I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know that, too, don’t you? I mean the energy and the giving me hell stuff. Even when you’re driving me nuts, ping-ponging … I mean … p-pinging … pinging off the walls with all that energy … and I … gripe at you … shit …

What was I talking …?

Oh, right — my wrist … It only needed a couple of stitches, nothing like … what you’ve got, Starsk. I got a peek at them … at it … your chest, I mean. They wouldn’t let me stay in here last night while they got you bandaged back up after … but I watched from outside, at the window. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I had to see for myself that you were going to … I had to know … got a pretty good look at … at … Damn it, Starsky! You really scared the hell out of all of us last night, you know that? Don’t you ever do that again! What if I hadn’t made it back here in time, huh? I mean, what if … oh, man … I can’t go there … I-I can’t …

Yes … Yes, I’m okay. Thanks. I … I just need some sleep. That’s all.

I know. I don’t want to upset him either. I just want him to wake up.

Please, I’ve gotta stay. This just isn’t going the way I’d meant it to.

I promise I’ll pull it together. I’ve got a couple of things I want to read to him.

Uh … Buddy, about your chest and the scars … don’t worry. Don’t worry at all. You’re just going to have a few more cool ones to show the ladies, something for them to “ooh and ahh” over, right? They’ll eat it up.

But, no, I know you won’t do that. You always downplay stuff like that. You never complain about the big things. Never. I know exactly what you’ll whine about. It’s gonna itch like the devil where they shaved your chest. Yeah, yeah. How would Hutch know? Very funny.

Are you wondering why I’m talking your ear off, Starsk? Well, it’s like this … I read this article about a theory that it sometimes helps when a person’s in a … when a guy’s out of it for someone to play music or talk to them or read to them, because they might be hearing what’s going on around them. Or, maybe it’s just to help the “someone” from losing his mind while he waits for the guy to wake up. Either way, if this could possibly, remotely help, buddy, then I’m gonna keep on talking.

I brought something to read to you, too. Thought maybe I’d have a hard time knowing what to talk about. But it looks like lack of sleep and too much coffee is making me a motor mouth today. … But you know what? If I can sit through stakeouts and listen to you yack on about anything and everything, about hunger-crazed wild monkeys, or Blue-Seven-Mystic, or the Tomato’s latest lube job, then you can … ah … ohhhh yeah … your car. Let’s just not go there right now, okay? Not yet. Don’t worry, though. We’ll get it fixed up. I promise. Hell, wake up for me right now and I’ll pay to have the damn thing gold plated with a diamond encrusted stripe!

Anyway … like I said, Dobey had them drive me home. He and Huggy preached at me that I had to at least try to get a little rest if I was going to be any good for you today. So, I tried. I honestly did. I took a shower, drank a glass of milk, turned off the lights and got in bed. Big mistake. Big. Mistake. I couldn’t do it. There was just too much … my head … I couldn’t stop … couldn’t shut it up.

So, I got up and tried to find something to do to keep from losing what was left of my mind. I picked up my guitar but I just couldn’t get into the mood. I turned on the TV but the late, late, late movie was a cop flick and I’d had enough of the real deal for one day, thank you very much. So, I started cleaning … just anything to try to take my mind off of … I … uh … I started dusting the book shelves and that’s when I saw it.

Do you remember the books you gave me, Starsky? When I was in the hospital recovering from botulism? Hmph. There’s another fine example of my stupid one-upmanship game playing. … I couldn’t believe it when you brought that stack of Shakespeare’s works to me, especially the book of sonnets. I know I accused you of trying to impress the bookshop’s pretty saleslady, but to tell the truth, I knew you had put thought into it and really tried to find a gift that you knew I’d like. As if saving my life wasn’t gift enough. You told me that I could use the sonnets to improve my lousy love life. Funny guy.

Last night … I mean, this morning I pulled down that book of sonnets and started reading. Once again, your gift helped me. It calmed me just to be able to read that beautiful language again, to lose myself in it.

Want to know something? They aren’t all love sonnets, Starsk, at least not like you think. In fact, a bunch of them were written to a man, a friend. I began to find some small comfort in that poetry, words that rang true to me, to my heart.

Don’t laugh, but I think Shakespeare must’ve known somehow what it’s like to be a worried cop trying to sleep while his partner lies miles away in a hospital bed. Listen to what I found in that book you gave me. Just be patient with me here, okay? It may not rank up there with “If your phone don’t ring, darlin’ …”, but I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance. It’s Sonnet 27.

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

Yeah, I guess you could call yesterday “toil.” And, I did travel some even if Dobey’s car is a little worse for the wear.

But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:

He’s so right. I thought maybe I could do it, but once I put my head on the pillow, I couldn’t get my mind to slow down enough to sleep. Couldn’t get it to shut the hell up. Like a never ending 8-track with no off button. Kept hearing screeching metal, glass shattering, monitors beeping. And I couldn’t stop the sound of that … that damned ball … that stupid, goddamned ping-pong ball! … Oh, man … shut up, Hutchinson.

I know. I’m sorry, Nurse … um …

Sorry, Starsk … sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah.

For then my thoughts–from far where I abide–
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,

“To thee” — I’ll bet you didn’t know that ol’ Will knew about the “me and thee” thing, did you?

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:

“The blind” made me think of … never mind. Water under the bridge, buddy … water under the bridge for both of us.

Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,

See? Will’s right on target again. Lying there, I kept thinking of you lying here with tubes up your nose and down your throat and up your … well, you know. Mostly, I just couldn’t get that ugly mug of yours out of my mind. It wouldn’t go away, kept hovering in front of my eyes and floating over my bed in the dark. There’s enough reason right there to keep me scared out of my wits awake, right? Just like one of your Bela “Lugoosey” movies. … Tonight’s Creature Feature, ladies and gentlemen, is The Attack of the Face of David Starsky!

Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.

Hmmm, “a jewel”? I don’t care what your ladies or your mom or your nurses say. I wouldn’t exactly call your face a jewel. … Come on, Curly. Work with me here. It’s time for you to wake up and give it right back to me. I don’t work that well alone. I’m supposed to be the straight man in this act, remember?

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

The Bard nailed it all for me. That poem, hundreds of years after it was written, had it all laid out, exactly how I was feeling. You know, I may not have been able to find quiet for me because I knew that my “thee” was too quiet, too damned quiet. Starsk, you’ve found quiet enough for us both and then some. Maybe, at least, you‘ve been getting some rest? I hope you’ve slept well for us both, man, because when you do wake up, we’ve got a boat load of detective work to do. Neither one of us can really get any rest until we find —

What? Oh. No, doctor, I’d rather not. I’ve got more to —

Yeah, yeah. All right. I’ll go, for now. Can you at least tell me now how you think he’s doing?

I can see for myself he’s still … here.

Without a doubt, he’s a fighter.

Yeah, I guess “holding his own” about sums it up. It’s only words, though, “a fine volley of words.”

Nothing. Never mind.

Listen, Starsk, I … I gotta go, buddy. They want to examine you, okay? Just a little check under the hood. While they check you out, I’ll go check on the captain and Huggy. Maybe Dobey’s got some more information for me … for us. I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.

If the doctors and nurses poke and prod you too hard, just tell ’em where to get off. Please? Damn … Just wake the hell up and tell anybodyanything! Nap time’s over.

 

Scene II — Early Afternoon of the Day After

 

“I bring a trumpet to awake his ear,
To set his sense on the attentive bent,
And then to speak.”
— Troilus and Cressida (Act I, Scene III)

 

Hey.

Starsky, you were supposed to say, “Hey, yourself.” You missed your line.

How ya doin’, huh? I see they took that tube outta your throat. That’s gotta feel better, right? … No answer? … Still not talking to me? Are you mad at me for being gone all morning? … Come on, buddy. First, you gotta open your eyes for me and then I’ll tell you all about where Huggy and I went this morning and what we found out. You’re not gonna believe it.

No? Not gonna let me see those baby blues yet, huh? … Okay. Well, I’m gonna tell you all about my morning anyway. Maybe you’ll get tired of my one-man show eventually. I never thought I’d be ready to hear you complain, but I am, partner. I am. I’ll bet your nurses are ready for some of that patented Starsky charm, too.

Aren’t you, Nurse?

Thought so.

Oh, and you’ll soon have another lovely lady here who’d like to see you awake and making a general nuisance of yourself. Your mom should be here by dinner time. Dobey called her again while I was out this morning. He’s made all the arrangements for her to be here today. Nick, too. Don’t worry, Starsk. I’ll take care of her. We’ll all take care of her. She just needs to be here with you.

Anyway, about this morning … I told you last night that I knew that Jenny Brown had to be just a stooge, a bit player in this turkey, right? I don’t give a flying fu… I don’t care if she did pay for the hit. I knew there was someone behind the scenes who’d left her holding the bag, a big boss with a lot of power.

Well, this morning Dobey found out that the mechanic from the garage got knifed in his cell at County last night. When I called County to check on Miss Brown, it turned out she’d been sprung by some high-priced law firm. So, I decided to pay a nice, friendly visit to her sleazebag lawyer. I’m sure you can guess that my little tête-à-tête with Mr. Jonathan Welles was about as productive as one of Dobey’s diets.

But, while I was chitchatting with Welles, it turns out Huggy had followed me and was doing a little looting at the receptionist’s desk. He’d snagged the call sheet that showed all of Welles’ outgoing calls. There was one name showing up over and over on it, somebody named Bates. … I called the number. It didn’t solve the Bates mystery, but … well, you ever heard of Gunther Industries … James Gunther? Starsk, the number was his private line! A big boss with a lot of power? That’s a hell of an understatement.

So, the punch line in this farce is that it’s a bona fide billionaire who is out to get our puny, pathetic hides, not some run of the mill psycho or common street thug, but one of the most powerful men in the country. Can you believe it? He‘s the king behind all this …. this fucking nightmare.

Sorry, Nurse … sorry.

Gunther is the guy after us, Starsk, but why? Why? Where’s the connection to us? What beef can he have with us? What the hell would make him want to do this to …? … Damn it, Starsky. … Please. Wake. Up. … I-I really need you, partner. I need you to help me sort this mess out. … I need … uh …

I need sleep. That’s what I need. … Oh, man. My eyes feel like Merle took his electric sander to ’em. … Starsk, if Gunther has that much power, then … no … no … That’s enough … just enough of all that for right now.

All right, lazybones, if you aren’t going to get up and get to work, then I hope you are ready for me to read some more to you. Believe me; it’s not going to be from one of your Playboys. What if I read more poetry to you instead, just to annoy the crap out of you? Then would you please wake up and give me hell? … No? … I guess you’re just not tired of hearing my voice yet. So, until you wake up and tell me to stuff it, you’re just going to have to listen to more Shakespeare. And I get to be your own personal, living, breathing, rambling Cliffs Notes. Call ’em Hutch Notes. … Now where’d that book go? … Ah … here it is …

Let’s see now. … There was another one of those sonnets ol’ Will wrote to his friend that spoke to me so well. … Yeah … yeah … This is it. … This one will be a bit tougher to work through, but here goes. It’s Sonnet 30.

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,

My god, Starsk, with what has happened and the way my mind has been since, how can I not be drowning in remembrances? Some good, but … I wish I could make some of this flood of crazy thoughts go away. Maybe this particular sonnet doesn’t really help that wish come true, though. So, then do you wonder why am I reading it to you? Someone told me once that everything in life has a trade-off. I guess some would call that the yin and yang of life. Right now, I’m ready for some of the yang to kick in. We’ve both sure had enough of the yin lately. … But anyway, you’ll see. This poem has its trade-off, its yin and yang. … Man, if you were only awake, I can just imagine the field day you’d have with this drivel I’m spouting. “Hutch Notes”, my ass.

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:

Time … no currency more precious. And, just how have I spent mine? What about all my grandiose plans for life? Wife, kids … I thought I’d have all that by now. Forty’s just around the corner, you know. Well, it may be around the corner and down the next block, but still … Scary thought, isn’t it?

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,

Oh … This part … I don’t know about going down this road. This one’s hard, especially with you … Damn, Starsk, we’ve lost so many … too many … Helen, Jack … Gillian and your sweet Terry … John, Jackson … even Van. Too many precious reasons for tears. Did we … did I cry for them all? They deserved our tears. Every last one of them …

And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:

Starsk, I … uh … I’ve really screwed things up lately, haven’t I? And, at what expense? At whose? Here I was just saying that I once saw a wife and family in my future, but all I seem to be doing is moving from girl to girl. … There was Kate, beautiful, sweet Kate. We got the Angel off her back and then she was gone again. I guess that doesn’t say much for me, does it? Good for a little White Knight action and a nostalgic fling and nothing more. … Then Marianne, such a special lady. God, I hurt her so badly. Never intended to, but I did. I know it was my job to get close to her, but it was too close. … At least with Allison I never really got close. Thank God she never did with either of us, because there we were playing that stupid competitive crap again. … But … that was nothing compared to Kira. … Kira … only a few weeks ago. … We talked … you and I … we talked it out, I know, after that ridiculous show we put on in front of her at The Pits. I still don’t know why I moved in on her, why I took it so far. I honestly don’t. I never could give you a reason other than I just didn’t think straight when I was around her. Yet … dear God in heaven, you – you said you forgave me. … If you hadn’t, buddy, that would have been an expense I couldn’t afford. … Never again, Starsky. I swear. Never again.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er

Foregone grievances … yeah, we can total up a long list of those, can’t we? First and foremost, the job, this damned job. How much more can we let it pollute us, partner? Sure, we’ve had some allies in the department, with Dobey being number one. But how many times have we had to fight IA, dirty lawyers, corrupt judges, or even a worthless mayor who cares more about appearances and budgets than the poor chumps on his payroll? I know, I know, we just put the badges back on. Look what we’ve got to show for it. Gunther is just the latest and maybe the superstar in a long cast list of creeps and sickos in our lives. Prudholm, Forest, Grossman, Marcus, Humphries, and now … You remember, that night at The Pits … with Kira? … I quoted Shakespeare, and badly, I should add. “If you prick us, do we not bleed?” Well, there is more to that quote. “If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.

I know, Starsk. This seems like one overly depressing poem and I’ve made it worse with my own inventory of moans added on top of it. You know I tend to spout off a lot just to work off steam and you’ve always been there to bear the brunt of it. Looks like I’m taking advantage of that once again, making you listen to me rehash old news, and you aren’t awake to stop me. … But, bear with me. Mr. Shakespeare is about to get to the point and so am I.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.

“Think on thee” … Me and thee. … Right there. That’s it. That’s the payoff, Starsk … the yang. That’s the reason I took you through this melancholy piece of poetry, because Shakespeare knew there was a light left on there for him by a friend, a “dear friend” … a buddy that could make any rotten, stinking day a good one just by being around … just by being alive … by telling him corny jokes; by laughing at his; by showing him his latest lousy card trick; by bragging about some flashy, candy apple red hunk o’ junk like it was his first born; by dragging him to another “best pastrami in town” greasy spoon; by smiling one of those ridiculous ear-to-ear smiles; by being the best damned partner that … that … well, you get the picture.

Those last two lines of the sonnet are so simple, so direct, so unlike the black cloud gloominess of the rest of it. Just thinking about his friend brightens his day. It settles all the scores of all the wrongs, rids him of all the garbage that life may have dumped on him. If just thinking about his friend does that for him, can you imagine what being around the friend in the flesh does?

And you know what, Starsky? Screw you if you hate soapy scenes, because I —

Huh? What, Miss … uh … Nurse … uh? Sorry, I don’t even know your name.

Sure. Here you go. I’m glad you liked it. Hey, are you …? Need a tissue?

Of course, sweetheart, you’re welcome to borrow it, as long as you read more to him later.

Go figure that, Starsk. You lucked out and got a nurse that likes Shakespeare. Yeah, I know. I can just hear you saying, “Lucky me.”

Well … Mr. Lucky, that last line of the sonnet was your cue. You wake up and “all losses are restor’d and sorrows end.” It’s time for Miracle Patient and Super Cop, as played by David Starsky to enter stage right and tell his partner just how to nail a slick bastard like James Gunther. That’s the part I’m giving you in our little melodrama — Miracle Patient. No lines to learn. Just wing it. Improvisation always was your strong suit.

Starsk, did you ever study Hamlet in school? The “melancholy Dane” and all that? Remember the character that put the idea into Hamlet’s head about revenge? It was a … his father’s … uh … No, I definitely refuse to let you play that part. You can be Horatio, Hamlet’s best buddy. There’s no doubt you’ve got the chops for that one. You were born for the role of best friend. And in our version, Gunther thinks he’s got the part of the king. But you know what? Even if he did put poison drops in your ear, I’m too old and tired to play Hamlet. Anyway, I don’t think King Gunther has a conscience for us to capture. … Come on, pal, I thought you’d at least get the Star Trek reference there.

Damn. … What the hell am I talkin’ about? … I’m too wiped out to do this alone any more, Starsky. If you’ll just wake up and open your eyes, then “all’s well that ends well.” … I know, I know. Stupid. … I’m losing it here, really losing it. Talking nonsense. … It’s just that I don’t know what else I can do. I’m out of ideas … out of steam … maybe out of luck.

I mean … what if we do find a solid trail of evidence? What are the odds that if we did bring down a corporate kingdom like Gunther Industries and arrest the king himself, his sleazebag lawyers would find some way for him to weasel his way out of it clear and clean? And, what are the odds then that he’d come after us again? All pretty damned good odds against us for one tired cop like me to be pushin’, wouldn’t you say?

You really don’t have to say anything, partner. I’ve said more than enough today for the both of us. Come on; just open those eyes for me. … That’s all I need. … Please … Wake up just for a second? … That’s all I’m askin’. …

It’s just … just that … I’m so tired … and I can’t do this any more … and … I don’t know what to do, Starsk. … I’m pushin’ the odds. I don’t know what to do.

I mean, what if …? … What if.

Oh, man, what am I talkin’ about? … What am I talkin’ about? …

 

“Quiet untroubled soul, awake, awake!”
— King Richard III (Act V, Scene III)