Just a Case of Misspelling

Friday, late afternoon, Police Station.

“I can’t believe you would do something like this,” Minnie said grimly, standing at the squad room door and waving a paper at Hutch.

Hutch had just returned from giving his statement at the Williams shooting case at court.

“Do what, Minnie?” Hutch asked, surprised by her cool manner. This wasn’t like Minnie. Was she mad at him because he couldn’t keep his promise? But hadn’t he entrusted Starsky to take care of it?

Minnie walked briskly up to Hutch, and placed the paper on Hutch’s desk. “I never expected something like this from you, Hutch.” She shook her head in displeasure, her lips set at a tight line. “And I thought I knew you.”

She turned and walked away, pulling the door shut behind her, leaving Hutch confused and bewildered. What was all that about?

Hutch watched the closed door for a moment and picked up the paper she’d left. It was a note, addressed to Minnie, and signed by him, Hutch. Moreover the handwriting was his, too. Hutch frowned, reading its contents.

Oh, Geez…

He recalled the events that had taken place earlier that day.

******************************************************

“Hey, Hutch, have you decided where we are going for lunch today?” Starsky entered the squadroom, his face decorated with his usual infectious smile.

“Starsky, it’s still eight in the morning.” Hutch rolled his eyes. “There’s way more things to do before lunch. Why don’t you get your coffee and start on these cases. I have to be in court by eleven.”

“But, Hutch, didn’t you promise Minnie that we’ll take her out for lunch?” Starsky reminded.

Shit! Hutch had forgotten all about it. How could he?

Starsky and Hutch had worked on a homicide case tied to a string of robberies which had occurred over the past couple months. Minnie’s research into similar robberies in the surrounding area had been a huge help.

“Starsk, I won’t be able to make it for lunch, but you can. Right?” Hutch asked hopefully.

“That ain’t right, Hutch. You promised her. “

“Yes, but I promised on behalf of both of us.”

“That’s my point. We were going to take her out. Not just you or me.”

“Well, then I’ll– we’ll– have to postpone it. Oh, shit–” Hutch said, rubbing his forehead. “I have to meet with the DA now. Starsk, can you go and tell her about our change of plans?”

Hutch swung his jacket over his shoulders and picked up the case file he needed, checking whether he had all the witness statements in order.

“Sure– I can do that,” Starsky reassured him. “Go do what you have to do. I’ll take care of Minnie.”

******************************************************

Starsky had taken care of it, alright! Hutch thought grimly, getting to his feet. He found Starsky at the candy machine, munching a Milky Way. “How could you do something like this?” Hutch asked, angrily.

“Do what?” asked Starsky, popping the last bite of the candy in his mouth.

“Why did you write this note in my handwriting and sign it as Hutch?

“What else should I do? I had to sign it as you because it was written in your handwriting,” Starsky replied, matter-of-factly. “‘Tis just like your handwriting, isn’t it? Fooled you too, didn’t I?” he said licking the melted chocolate off his fingers.

Hutch clenched his teeth and shut his eyes tightly, wishing both his partner and the note would disappear into the candy machine.

Fat chance!

“Do you know what you’ve written here?” Hutch asked, hoping for an explanation on the note.

“Of course I know. I wrote it. You asked me to, or can’t you remember now?”

“I don’t remember asking you to write a note–”

“What the hell do you expect me to do when I didn’t find Minnie at her desk, huh? Sit there the whole day until she shows up?” Starsky asked gruffly. “I had tons of things to take care of. First, I had to go meet with Jenkins to get the Casey’s report. Then I had to go interview Mrs. Casey. I had to stop at the Fat Donut to talk to James Casey, I had to–”

“Okay, okay.” Hutch raised his arms. “You are a busy man. I get it. So you had to leave a note because you couldn’t find Minnie. But why did you have to pretend I was doing the writing?”

“Because I didn’t want her to think that you would ask someone else to take care of what you should have done,” Starsky said resolutely. “Makes sense, hot shot?”

Hutch tightened his jaw. “Sorry,” he said sarcastically. “Should have known that you had a good reason to ask Minnie to get naked with us.”

“What?” Starsky gasped. “Get naked with us?” he asked, grabbing the note out of Hutch’s hand. He read it once, twice– and turned to Hutch. “Are you insane? I think you need glasses. I have written nothin’ that even remotely suggests such a thing,” he puffed. “Why on earth would I ask Minnie somethin’ like that anyway, huh? Now if the note was for you…”

“You have no idea, do you?” Hutch cut Starsky off, immediately.

“No, I don’t! Why don’t you tell me?”

“You need that dictionary, buddy.” Hutch sighed. “If you were asking her for forgiveness, you should have written ‘please bear with us,’

“But that’s exactly what I wrote–”

“No, Starsk. You have written B-A-R-E instead of B-E-A-R. You asked her to bare with us, and then you promise her that she will have the ‘time of her life’. Do you have any idea what this entire note means?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with my note. I mean, if I wrote B-E-A-R with us, isn’t it like asking her to go grizzly with us?”

“No. No. It does not suggest such a thing. What does ‘go grizzly’ mean anyway?” Hutch asked. “No. Don’t answer that,” he added instantly. “Starsk, you better fix this. I don’t want Minnie to think I’m some Neanderthal.”

“Oh, stop being such a worry-wart. I’ll take care of it.” Starsky turned around, indicating that he was going to talk to Minnie.

“Whatever you do, just don’t leave any notes in my handwriting,” Hutch warned.

******************************************************

“Shame on you, Ken Hutchinson.”

Minnie’s voice ringing in his head, Hutch looked up from the document he was typing. It was like déjà vu, all over again. The difference was that Starsky was right behind her, looking very uncomfortable.

“Minnie?” Hutch stood up immediately. Now what was wrong?

“First, you made a promise you couldn’t keep. Then you made your partner do your dirty work. And as if that wasn’t enough, you make him take the blame for something you did,” Minnie said sternly.

Hutch bit on his lower lip.

“Minnie, it wasn’t like that–” Starsky begun, but Minnie stopped him by just one look.

Starsky swallowed hard.

“Minnie, I didn’t–” Hutch begun.

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Minnie– please, you’ve got to believe me. Hutch didn’t write that. I wrote it in Hutch’s–”

“Handwriting— Yes.” Minnie completed Starsky’s sentence. “You already told me that. Four times.” Minnie shook her head. “Starsky, honey. I know you are smart, but you ain’t that smart,” she said, wagging her index finger.

“What?” Starsky gasped. “I can show you– I can prove that I wrote this.” Starsky grabbed a pen and the notepad from his desk.

“You would do no such a thing.” Minnie pulled the notepad away from Starsky and flung it down onto the table. She turned back to face Hutch. “Shame on you,” she said, and walked away.

“Hutchinson, in my office, now,” Captain Dobey shouted from his office.

Hutch stared at Dobey’s room unhappily. “Starsky, that note you wrote to Minnie– Is that the only note I have to worry about?” Hutch asked.

“Well… there might be another one or two,” Starsky said, tapping his fingers on the table.

Hutch groaned.

******************************************************

Hutch had been typing constantly, as if his life depended on it, since he returned to his desk after a brief trip to Dobey’s office. He was red in the face.

Starsky opened his mouth to ask what it was all about, but shut it as soon as he saw Hutch’s deadly finger threatening to chop, slice, shred, hack, and do whatever to him. “You,” Hutch begun. “From now on, will never, ever, be me! Not in person, and NOT on paper! Got that?”

“But… but… I have never tried to be you, Hutch,” Starsky said solemnly. “I don’t even want to be you. I can’t make my hair straight. I don’t want to dye it, either– I don’t want to wear shoes to make me two inches taller!”

Hutch grit his teeth together.

“And I can’t even think of all that weird stuff you put in your body–” Starsky paused and thought for a while. “No!” he said, shaking his head. “I definitely don’t want to be you! And I can’t even be you, because down there I’m–”

“Starsky!” Hutch snapped, gritting his teeth even harder.

“Keep on doing that and before long you won’t have any teeth to chew with. You’d have to get dentures, Hutch!”

Without saying another word, Hutch stormed away into Dobey’s office carrying whatever document he had been typing for the past fifteen minutes.

Starsky stretched along the tables and grabbed the sheet lying on Hutch’s desk. It was the report he had typed on behalf of Hutch regarding the sexual assault case of Lisa Howell, a make-up artist, attacked by a so-called novice male model. Now what was this doing on Hutch’s desk? Starsky had turned this in to Dobey a couple of hours ago. Dobey! He had summoned Hutch to his office for something. The report? But…There couldn’t be anything wrong with it; he knew he had turned in a perfect document.

Still, Starsky took a peek.

Gary Wade, a former navel officer, had taken Lisa Howell to her home after having dinner with her. Lisa said that Gary was a true believer in homopathetic treatments and had always talked to her about different medicines she can use to get rid of her problems. She had not suspected him to be a violet man, and had invited him for a drink out of politeness. Lisa claimed that things got out of hand and Gary assaulted her when she refused his sexual advances.

Gary not only denied that he hurt Lisa, but that he never went to her house. He insisted that he had rearly contacted her at her work place.

“Ooops,” Starsky mouthed. He had made a spelling mistake. He had typed ‘violet’ instead of ‘violent’, but that’s all he could find in that part. He double-checked how he had typed ‘assaulted’. He couldn’t forget the way Dobey had chewed him for spelling it as ‘asalted’ in his very first report. “I’m not here to correct your spelling, Starsky!” Dobey had bellowed, not that long ago. And he was proud of himself for spelling ‘polite’, correctly. He could’ve typed it as ‘polight.’ Starsky knew what he was capable of. So why was Hutch so mad? It’s not like the world had come to an end. It was just one mistake.

Before Starsky could read the rest, Hutch came back from Dobey’s office and snatched the paper out of Starsky’s hands.

“What’s wrong with you, Starsky?” Hutch snapped. “An officer of belly-buttons?”

“What belly button? Are you outt’a your mind?” It was Starsky’s turn to get exasperated with his partner. Sometimes, Hutch really didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Tell me where this N-A-V-E-L officer of yours works?” Hutch asked, spelling the word on the document, as Starsky had typed it.

“In the N-A-V-Y, where else? And he ain’t no officer of mine Hutch. I was in the army, remember?” Starsky replied getting impatient with Hutch. What was this all about? Had Hutch mixed up the Army, Navy, and the Air Force?

Hutch wiped his face with his palms. “You know… there was a reason why I gave you that dictionary.”

Starsky blew out a deep breath. How could he forget? It had been a gift from Hutch on the first day after they became partners at the Metropolitan division. “I know how to spell belly button, Hutch, I don’t need a dictionary for that.” Waving his hand, Starsky dismissed Hutch’s idea immediately. “So… what was wrong with the report, anyway?” Starsky asked. “I know I had misspelled violent.”

Hutch breathed in deeply and heavily.

Starsky studied his partner intently. Hutch looked as if he was about to have a panic attack.

“Violet, huh? And you think that’s all you had done?” Hutch seemed to be very angry. “Tet- tet- Tell me this. Tell me what the heck you meant by homopathetic. Do you think Lisa is gay?”

“Are you nuts? Lisa isn’t gay, Hutch! Now stop messing with me. She wouldn’t go out with Gary if she was a lesbian. Now, on the other hand, if I had to describe you or me–”

Starsky stopped talking as Hutch was about to go up in flames. When his partner got so worked up with these simple things, he reminded Starsky of those hot’n spicy flamin’ tostadas La Paloma served on Friday nights.

“Homeopathic, Starsk. The word is homeopathic.”

Starsky put his hands up signaling he was about to surrender and go check the dictionary. Better to be safe, when Hutch was in one of his killer moods. “Anything else I should check?”

“Check the meaning of R-E-A-R and R-A-R-E.”

“I know what rear means, Hutch. Means it’s not common. And then rare – that’s used when you have to order steak or somethin.'” What did Hutch take him for? Anyone knows the difference between those two words.

“Now wait a second. Which is which?”

“R-E-A-R is for uncommon. And R-A-R-E is for errr – something that’s a bit raw– I mean underdone.”

“Jesus!” Hutch wiped his hands over his face. “Can you tell me then which one is used to describe your ass?”

“My ass? Ah! So that’s what this’s all about! You just wanna know about my–”

“Starsky!”

“Okay, Already! Well… my ass isn’t a common thing.” Starsky said very confidently. “So that means it’s spelled as R-E-A-R.”

“God!”

“What?” Starsky asked. “Am I wrong?”

“No, but you were, previously.”

“Huh?”

“Rear is not used to denote uncommon, that is what rare is used for.”

“Wait…” Starsky was utterly confused. “Which is which?”

“R-A-R-E is used for uncommon.”

“Oh,” Starsky smiled. “So then my ass is spelled R-A-R-E.”

“No!”

“So if R-A-R-E is for uncommon, then R-E-A-R must be used for not-well-cooked meat?”

“Yes. No. NO!”

“I think you are a messed up man, Hutch!” Starsky shook his head. “You should get your butt in the right place.”

Hutch was literally shaking. He stood up, scooped up all the files from his desk, and dumped them in the filing cabinet. “I don’t want to see you until Monday. Not until you refer to that dictionary and learn which word is used for which and what not. You hear me?” He threatened.

“Sure thing, partner! I’ll sit on my rare or rear or rear-rare the whole weekend and get to the bottom of it. Well… unless you want me on the top, of course. Anything else you want me to do, while I’m at it?” Starsky asked, smirking.

“Yeah. Go check yourself into Cabrillo State,” Hutch said, leaving the squad room in a huff.

 

Friday night, Hutch’s apartment.

Hutch sat at his sofa, sipping his ice-cold beer, relieved to get away from his mind-boggling partner. But something gnawed at him. Something about some of the things Starsky had said unsettled him. What was it? He had not paid attention while Starsky was trying to explain all those strange notes he had left behind on Hutch’s behalf. There was not a moment of peace around Starsky, and that was pretty much all the time!

Hutch pinched his lower lip, recalling bits and pieces of their conversations– Oh yes, while explaining about Minnie’s note, when Hutch asked him how he could’ve possibly wanted Minnie to get naked with them, Starsky had replied that he would never ask such a thing from Minnie. Then he had said, “Now if the note was for you–” Hutch was pretty sure that was exactly what Starsky had blurted out. Hutch’s heart rate doubled. What did Starsky mean by that? Did he mean that he wouldn’t mind getting naked with Hutch?

And then… when the word homeopathic came up, Starsky had said that Lisa wasn’t gay, and continued to say “Now, on the other hand, if I had to describe you or me–”

Jesus Christ! Hutch puffed. His heart rate tripled. This was just too much. Was Starsky finally accepting that he may have certain ‘tendencies’? Starsky had even commented on how Hutch looks down there– briefly mentioning how different they were. They had seen each other plenty of times, naked, in the locker room showers. But Starsky had never mentioned anything about their appearances on any occasion.

The final fiasco on the difference between rear and rare; Starsky had again hinted about Hutch wanting to know about Starsky’s ass. Holy mother of God! Starsky had also mentioned about him being on the top and getting his butt in the right place. Right place? There was only one place where Hutch wanted his ass to be.

Hutch rubbed his hands over his face nervously. He wished he had not shut down the conversations with Starsky abruptly. He’d been so riled up on the mistakes Starsky had made in the writings that he never thought of digging more deeply into those words. How could he bring up the conversation without revealing too much of his own thoughts?

 

Sunday evening, Hutch’s apartment.

Starsky knocked on Hutch’s door. He hoped his partner could help him with his problem. He dreaded telling Hutch about it, though. He had to find the right words.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you until Monday morning,” Hutch said as Starsky strolled in with a pizza and a six-pack.

“I have to talk to you.” Starsky left the goodies on the dining table.

Hutch arched his eyebrows. “You all right?”

“I don’t know!” Starsky walked across the living room and flopped down on the couch. “I think something’s wrong with me.”

“I’ve known about it for a long time, Starsk. Glad you’ve finally come to self-realization.” He pulled out two bottles from the pack.

“I just don’t understand how this could’ve happened, Hutch,” Starsky said, very troubled.

Hutch sat beside Starsky, handing him a beer. “Can you just tell me what this is all about?”

“I found a letter in my kitchen today.” Starsky took a long swig from his brew. “And it was addressed to you. By me. But I’m sure I didn’t write it.”

“That sounds pretty much up to par,” said Hutch.

“What?”

“Means it’s normal for you to do something like that.”

“Huh?”

“Par is a golf term, Starsk. It’s the average number of strokes set for each hole on a golf course.”

“I know what par means. But what does golf have to do with this?” Mumbling to himself, Starsky stood up. “This ain’t normal for me. I don’t write letters and forget them. Why would I write you a letter in your handwriting?”

“Come on, Starsk. You wrote letters in my handwriting all day long on Friday.” Hutch offered a rational explanation. “You must’ve forgotten to switch back to your handwriting.”

“I did NOT write this, Hutch. I swear!”

“So what is this letter about? Can I see it?”

“I- I don’t want you to read it,” Starsky muttered.

“Why not? If it’s addressed to me, then shouldn’t I read it?”

“But I DIDN’T write it, Hutch. At least I don’t remember doing it.”

“Well– just let me see it. What is it about? Why are you so upset?”

Reluctantly, Starsky pulled a letter from his pants pocket and handed it to Hutch.

Hutch opened the folded piece of paper and took a peek at it. “It sure looks like my handwriting.”

Dear Hutch,

I have been doing a lot of reading and a lot of thinking. And I’m very proud to say that I now know the difference between a hell of a lot of words. Just wanted to tell you that I’m glad that you are my pal. You make me feel homey, no matter where I am. But I can’t bear to stay at home all by myself. We have been partners for so many years. I cannot bear the fact that you rarely touch my rear and I barely see you bare, which is a rare thing for partners. Don’t you think?

Yours, Starsky.

“What the hell?” Hutch asked.

“I-I told you– I didn’t write this, Hutch.” Starsky said hurriedly. He knew Hutch wouldn’t take it very kindly.

“Are you suggesting that I did this?” Hutch asked, sounding angry.

“No, No. I– I know you didn’t.” Starsky scratched his head. “You haven’t even been to my apartment after Friday. You didn’t want to see me until Monday.”

“Then explain to me what this is? Rarely touch my rear? Seriously, Starsk?”

“I told you I–”

“Yeah, yeah. You already told me a hundred times that you didn’t write it.” Hutch thought for a while. He turned the paper over and all around as if that might give a clue to the true writer. “But it is addressed to me. And it is signed as Starsky. Were you reading that dictionary over the weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Well. Maybe you overdid it, buddy. I think you kind of sleep-wrote this, and then sleep-woke up to the kitchen, tucked it under the coffeemaker and went back to your room. People do weird things in their sleep, Starsk.”

Aha! Starsky watched Hutch for a while. “You think so?” It all made sense, now.

“That’s the only explanation I have.”

Starsky thought for a while. He nodded. Shook his head. Nodded again. “Ok. So I wrote it. In my sleep.” Starsky sighed. “I hope I wouldn’t do something really stupid while sleep walking.”

“I hope so, too.” Hutch said.

“You ain’t mad at me?” Starsky asked.

“Nah– It’s you. Who else would write a letter like this to me, huh?” Hutch smiled and nudged Starsky’s side with his elbow. “Come to think of it, I’m kind of flattered, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean… I’ve heard that some people act out their dreams and subconscious desires while sleep walking.”

“You think so?” Starsky knew exactly where the conversation was heading to. Oh, yes, he knew!

“You tell me. Have you been… errr… thinking of you and me? You know– like… err…”

“You mean you and me together-together?” He would let Hutch manipulate him this one time. Starsky smiled to himself.

“Yeah? Have you?”

“Well. Yes. But…”

“Maybe your subconscious mind is trying to get you to say what you really want to say, Starsk.”

Bingo!

 

Sunday Night, Hutch’s apartment. Hutch’s bed.

Starsky watched his partner’s eyes fluttering half-way open. “Hey…” he said softly and inched close to Hutch, pushing a silky strand hair of hair that was stuck to his forehead.

Their friendship had taken a major change that evening. For better or worse, they were now partners in every aspect of life.

“Mmm?” Hutch looked around. Seeing Starsky beside him, he stretched and pushed Starsky down the mattress, forcing him to lie on his back. He crawled on top of Starsky and laid his head on Starsky’s chest. “You really are a good kisser,” Hutch mumbled.

Starsky chuckled.

“I am glad you made all those mistakes writing those letters,” Hutch said sleepily.

“Yeah!”

“And I’m glad of all your nocturnal activities.”

“Uh-huh.” Starsky bit his lip, trying not to laugh out loud. Did Hutch really think he had outsmarted Starsky?

Starsky trailed his hand up and down on Hutch’s back. Payback time! “And I’m glad you wrote that letter, Hutch. That was very smart of you.”

“What?” Hutch asked, sitting up and becoming more alert.

“The letter,” Starsky reminded.

“Oh, come on, Starsk. You know I didn’t write it. Didn’t we already go through–?”

“Oh, Yes.” Starsky tried to sound serious. “Me sleep walking and sleep writing. Oh, Yes. We did establish that fact.” He lifted up his chin and stared at Hutch.

“Well then, what’s the problem?” Hutch asked.

“No problem at all. But explain to me how exactly you knew that the letter was under the coffeemaker? I never told you that,” Starsky asked, wriggling his eyebrows.

*** END***