Starsky takes the Torino to a classic car show. As usual when these guys are involved, things don’t exactly go as planned.
This story was published in the zine In Your Eyes. Many many thanks to Linda (Lcabrillo) for accepting the story in the first place and her patience in editing it.
Hutch stood up to stretch his cramped muscles and reached for his coffee cup, frowning when he realized it was empty. He had drained the last swallow from it at least an hour ago, but had been so caught up in the report he was writing he’d never bothered to refill it. This late at night, it hardly seemed worth the trouble to brew another pot. He looked across the office he shared with his partner to see the other man leaning down beneath his desk.
“Hey, Starsky. You about ready to go?”
“I was ready when we got here this morning,” came the mumbled answer as Starsky pulled the last sheet of paper from the printer and tossed it on top of the stack on his partner’s desk. “Just let me turn this thing off. How did it get so damned late? I still gotta finish packing. Are you sure. . .?”
“I’m sure, Starsk. You should go. It’s more your thing than mine anyway.” At his partner’s ‘tell-me-something-I-don’t-know’ look Hutch continued, “Granted, a weekend spent with a bunch of guys drooling over sports cars isn’t exactly my first choice of entertainment. But you know I’d rather go to the car show with you than spend the weekend here alone. I owe you one, anyway; we did go up to McKenzie last month and you spent a weekend bored to tears while I watched the leaves change.”
“I wasn’t bored for all of it.”
“Oh, I know exactly which parts of that weekend had your full attention,” Hutch teased, grabbing his brown jacket from where it hung over the visitor’s chair and tossing Starsky his. “Get the lights, will ya?”
“But you’re going to be stuck here alone doing paperwork. That’s what’s not right here, Hutch.”
“Of course, you owe me for this, big time. Then again, you’re so far in debt at this point, what’s a little more?”
“Funny, blintz. It would take forever to add everything up and see who’s really in debt here,” Starsky replied in the same joking tone. “We’re still partners. I may hate paperwork with a passion but I’m not going to stick you with all of it. Laundry, however, that’s a different story.”
“C’mon, Starsk, we can argue about this on the way home. I’m beat.”
“It feels so strange being in this car again,” Hutch said as he rolled down the window so he could rest his arm on the passenger side door. He took a deep breath of the cool night air, enjoying the fresh taste after a long day of being cooped up inside. The smog wasn’t nearly as bad this late in the fall and the time of night with its lighter traffic gave the city an air of calm that it never had during the daylight hours.
“It’s almost like going back in time. I feel like we’re back out on the streets looking for somebody.” Hutch could almost see the years fall away from Starsky’s face and the joy that shone in his eyes warmed his heart.
“I’ve had enough looking for one week, Starsk. Think we finally got it all figured out?”
“Yeah, Martinez and Neilson are out looking for Tucker. He’s the only one left, and a street level dealer at that. They’ll get him. If it’s anything like last time the idiot’s back at his mother’s house,” he said, shaking his head at the predictability of some of their suspects.
Their latest case involved acting as advisors to a team of undercover detectives attempting to bust a heroin ring from the inside. Late last night they had finally caught up with what they hoped would be the last witness they needed to finally close the damned thing, but of course Lil’ Red had led them to someone else. Untangling the chain of command was an extremely time-consuming process, which was why they had wound up working so late on a Friday night instead of heading out of town at a reasonable hour.
“And can you believe that some of those guys hadn’t even heard of a Torino before?”
“Actually, Starsk, some of them weren’t even. . .”
“Don’t say it.”
“. . .Born when they stopped making these things.”
“You had to say it.”
“It’s true.”
“So? I think the kids down at the station were impressed, though. You gotta admit that we looked cool, driving up in this baby. She looks almost as good as she did when I bought her; remember that?” Starsky asked, wistfully.
“How can I forget? She’s got a few more miles on her now,” Hutch responded, looking over at the odometer which had long ago cracked 100,000. “So do we, for that matter.”
“But still as beautiful as ever,” Starsky said fondly. “Feels right to be driving her again, even if it is only for the weekend.”
“It’s okay, Starsky. I know where I rate,” Hutch answered, feigning jealousy.
“Hope so by now, blondie,” Starsky said, giving his partner a bright smile that suddenly faded. “This isn’t fair, Hutch.”
“Life isn’t fair. Haven’t you figured that out yet, dummy? Especially when it involves us and vacation plans.”
“You sound like Dobey used to. ‘Life isn’t fair,'” he said again, this time in a child’s mocking voice. “That’s not the point. The point is, we’ve got over 25 years in each, we’ve worked double shifts most of the week, and we put in for this weeks ago. The point is, we earned this weekend off.”
Starsky was right. But the bottom line was that they were too dedicated to do anything else. Duty called and they gave everything they had, the same way they always did. But they both knew that truth so he didn’t bother to say it out loud. Instead he tried to remind his partner of what they could salvage.
“The point is, the classic car show is this weekend, you’ve spent every free moment you could get lately getting her in top condition, and you should go and have fun. You’ve been looking forward to this for months and talking about it for just as long. Besides which, if you don’t go, I’ll never hear the end of it. The peace and quiet alone is worth it.”
Starsky glared at him. “Love you too, blintz,” he muttered.
The organization running the show considered any sports car from 1978 back to “the beginning of car time,” as Starsky put it, to be a classic car. Hutch should know; Starsky had only been talking about it for two months straight. At the ripe old age of 24, the Torino qualified. The idea of hanging out with other car enthusiasts was a dream come true for Starsky, who had spent a lot of time working on the car and tuning it up to get ready. He was very excited about the upcoming weekend, convinced that everyone would be impressed by his baby. He had also been looking forward to a run up the coast with his favorite blond in the passenger seat, just like old times. The excitement had been somewhat contagious and it had taken much less effort than Starsky had expected to convince Hutch to go with him.
It wasn’t so much that Hutch actually wanted to go to the car show, but anything that made his partner that happy was worth it. He also could not resist the opportunity for them to be together for a weekend totally away from work. The Torino held some good memories for Hutch as well, and he was also looking forward to spending some time riding in the old girl with his partner. However, there was no way they could both go now, not with the reports being due by Monday morning. Hutch had offered to stay and get the paperwork done so Starsky could go. Even though they had spent the day debating it, Starsky still hadn’t been quite convinced that it was okay to go off on his own.
“Thanksgiving’s in three weeks, and we both better damned well get that holiday off,” Starsky grumbled as he turned the car into the driveway of their old two-story house. Nothing else was said but Hutch knew Starsky had finally given in and he was glad for it. His partner deserved this trip and he had hated to see how disappointed he was when it appeared that they couldn’t go.
But there was one more thing he wanted to do before he let his lover go for the weekend. The long hours they’d worked over the past week had ensured that they had neither the time nor the energy to do much of anything at night except fall asleep together. Over the years the frequency of their lovemaking had tapered off, although the intensity had not diminished. Hutch knew how badly he was going to miss Starsky over the next two days and he wanted a taste of him before he left. He followed him into the dimly lit living room and as soon as Starsky reached to turn on the light he pounced, grabbing the startled man and turning him around for a fierce kiss.
He backed his partner up against the wall, slamming the door closed behind him with one hand as the other reached behind Starsky’s head to pull him close. He kissed him ferociously, his tongue probing as deep as he could into his partner’s mouth, tasting a day’s worth of spices and sweetness and pure Starsky. At the same time his hands made themselves at home on Starsky’s body; even after almost twenty years of loving him he could never get enough. In some ways it was new and exciting every time and there was a certain thrill to ravishing his partner directly on the other side of the door that closed them off from the outside world. From the way Starsky’s hands were roaming his own body, he could tell the feelings were strongly reciprocated.
“What brought this on?” Starsky asked when he could tear his mouth away from Hutch’s. “Not that I’m complaining or nothin’. Do that again?” he asked, pulling Hutch toward him. His partner obliged with another deep kiss.
“Something about seeing you driving the tomato again got me thinking about when we were young and you were a hotshot in that flashy red car of yours.” He let his hands emphasize his words by sliding the jacket off Starsky’s shoulders and then pulling his shirt free so he could reach up to touch the warm skin underneath, delighting in the shiver it produced in reaction. “Every chick on the street was just dying to get her hands on you but all they could do was look because you already had a blond you were taking home with you.”
Starsky pulled back slightly to look into his eyes but stayed in the embrace. “And what about now?” he asked in a way that managed to sound both seductive and hurt at the same time. “Don’t you think I’m still sexy-looking now?” Hutch never could resist that tone and he had long ago given up trying. He was a total pushover when it came to his partner.
“Oh yeah,” he affirmed, in between unbuttoning the shirt and laying breathy kisses on the skin as he exposed it. “You’re still sexy, an older. . .more distinguished . . .rugged looking kind of sexy. . .especially when you’re standing there all flushed and flustered like that.”
He had worked his way down Starsky’s body until he was on his knees in front of him. His own body would probably resent the posture later but he was much too occupied with the sight before him to worry about that now. He rubbed his face against the erection that had filled the front of his partner’s pants, inhaling deeply the scent of Starsky’s sex and anticipating what he would be savoring next. He could feel his own cock continue to harden in response.
“Mmm, what’s this?” he asked, fondling the hard cock through its cloth cover as his other hand worked at opening the zipper that would free it.
“If you don’t know by now, you really haven’t been paying any attention all these years, blondie.” Hutch could hear the affection in the teasing voice as his partner reached down to put his hands on his shoulders. They both loved having as many points of contact between them as possible and he moved his own body as close to his lover’s as he could, trapping him against the wall.
“I love that I can still do this to you.”
“Hope you’ve got more in mind, because if you leave me like this I’ll have to kill you.”
“Don’t worry, I got plans for this tool of yours.”
“Good, ’cause I’ve got a great view from up here.” The rest of Starsky’s commentary was lost in a low moan as Hutch sucked the tip of him in. He slowly worked his way over the rest of the straining organ, carefully inching it into his mouth, all the while aware that it was taking all the control Starsky had not to start thrusting. He glanced up to see Starsky looking down at him with a mixture of want and awe on his face, and the look in his own eyes silently gave his partner permission to let go. With that signal, Starsky started fucking his willing mouth and he let himself get lost in the feel of the strong hardness sliding in and out, the salty taste of Starsky’s precum, and the power of the firm body moving against him. He swirled his tongue around the rigid shaft, intent on giving its owner as much pleasure as he possibly could, reveling in the sounds that Starsky made- the way he always sounded when he was totally lost in the sensations of their lovemaking- and the knowledge that he was the source of his partner’s sexual high.
He was so aware of Starsky’s reactions that he didn’t even need his warning that he was about to come. He could feel it in the way his cock jumped in his mouth, in the way his body tensed as it built up within him. He pulled back almost to the point of letting go and then took him as deep into his throat as he could, as if he could pull Starsky all the way inside him and keep him there. Starsky went over the edge shouting his name. Hutch felt his essence pour out inside him as he hungrily took it all in. He felt Starsky double over on top of him with his head resting on his back. Hutch touched the only part of him he could really reach, running soothing hands up and down the back of his legs and over his asschecks, waiting for the tremors to subside.
He supported Starsky’s weight as best he could but after giving him a few minutes to recover he had to tell him to move. “Help me up, ya big lug. And no cracks about old age.”
“Nope. We’ll never be too old, just well-practiced. C’mon, blondie, it’s your turn.”
Starsky easily made him forget everything else by taking him to the couch and returning the favor. Hutch couldn’t decide if it was the feel of Starsky’s mouth on his cock or the sight of him kneeling in front of him as he worked on him that turned him on more. Starsky had a great talent for making his body sing and since he had gotten so turned on in bringing his partner off, it didn’t taken him very long to come. Afterward, all he wanted to do was lie down with his lover in his arms and sleep, but they both knew it was long past time for Starsky to be on the road.
“You’re lucky I didn’t jump you in the car. If that ride home had been any longer, I wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions. But this will have to hold me until you get home Sunday night.”
“I don’t have to go. We can try and get through the paperwork tomorrow morning and maybe head up for the afternoon,” Starsky said, making one last halfhearted offer to stay.
“It’s not like I never see you, Starsk. Go. Have fun. Do not come home with another car or with enough pieces to completely rebuild this one. Drive carefully,” he lectured, his words accompanied by the infamous Hutchinson finger wag.
“I told you not to point that thing at me,” Starsky said, laughing. He leaned over and captured the waving finger with his mouth, sucking it in with a loud slurp. Releasing it, he claimed Hutch’s mouth for one last goodbye kiss before heading out. “See you Sunday, lover.”
Hutch smiled as he locked up the house. Their house. In another fourteen years the mortgage would even be paid off. He smiled at that thought too. It amazed him how Starsky could make him happy even when he wasn’t physically there.
He hadn’t slept in a bed alone for a long, long time, so long that he wasn’t sure that he knew how to fall asleep without being curled up with Starsky next to him. He took some comfort in the idea that maybe he could tear through the reports in the morning and make it up to the car show to surprise his partner. Eventually his exhaustion won out over his loneliness and he drifted off. The insistent ringing of the phone woke him from a deep sleep. Reluctant to relinquish his hold on his well-earned rest, the exhausted man rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head in an attempt to drown out the annoying sound. It didn’t work.
“Starsky, get the phone,” he mumbled from under his fluffy fort. The request elicited no response from his partner, not even a moan, and still the phone kept ringing. Annoyed at being woken, and assuming his partner was dead to the world, he reached over to lightly slap him. “Starsky, will you get the damned phone?” It wasn’t until his arm hit the cold sheets of the bed instead of the warm body of his partner that he remembered he was alone. It was only for two nights, he reminded himself. He’d survive. Somehow.
And the damned phone was still ringing. Giving in to the inevitable, he pulled the pillow off his face and threw it across the room. With a loud sigh of resignation, even though no one was around to observe his dramatics, he reached over to pick up the receiver. Whoever was dumb enough to call him this early in the morning deserved whatever tongue-lashing they were about to receive. Of course, that assumed he had enough energy to work up a tirade.
I’m getting entirely too old for this shit. “Yeah,” he growled into the phone.
“Hello, this is Officer Kathy Randall of the California Highway Patrol and I’m trying to reach Lieutenant David Starsky.”
“He’s out of town for the weekend. I’m his partner, Lieutenant Hutchinson. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I’m showing Lieutenant Starsky as the primary owner of a 1974 Ford Gran Torino, red with California license plate number five-three-seven-Oscar-November-November and you as the co-owner. Is that correct?”
Hutch was suddenly wide awake and he tried not to let the fear that had settled into the pit of his stomach show in his voice, “Yes, that’s right.” Almost on the edge of panic, he managed to ask, “What happened?” In the course of his career he’d placed hundreds of similar calls to notify victim’s relatives and he knew exactly what the officer was going to say next. The calm, businesslike voice on the phone betrayed nothing of the horror of her words and he would give anything in the world not to have to hear the news that would shatter his heart.
“I’m sorry to have to inform you that the vehicle has been involved in an accident.”
This time his question was frantic and bordered on the edge of panic. “What happened? Where’s Starsky?”
Unable to sit still any longer, he started to pace around the bedroom, holding tight to the cordless phone he carried as if he could physically pull the information he needed out of the other end of the line. He stopped on Starsky’s side of the bed and looked at the collection of junk his partner had accumulated: an empty cup, the new Frederik Pohl novel he was currently reading, the stack of books behind it that he intended to get to someday, and his reading glasses. All three remote controls for the bedroom entertainment center were on his nightstand, as well as the TV Guide. Looking at the things that Starsky had so recently handled made him miss him all the more. He carefully picked up the reading glasses, cradling them in his hand as he listened to the voice on the phone and prayed that Starsky would be coming home to finish his book.
“The accident occurred at the intersection of Gorman Post and Gorman School Road, in northern LA County, northwest of Route 5. Rescue personnel are on the scene. I’m afraid that I don’t have any further details at this time, sir. Trooper Peterson asked me to call this number and attempt to find the car’s owner.”
He recognized the name. He and Starsky had worked with Bernie Peterson before he had transferred over to the highway patrol a few years back. Peterson was also a car buff and Starsky had given him a ride in the Torino one weekend. It was no wonder the trooper had recognized the car and Hutch was grateful. Otherwise it would have been hours before they would have tracked him down.
Hanging up the phone, he looked wildly around the room, almost as if he expected Starsky to appear and tell him he was all right. He tried to shake off his fear as he hurried to put on the first clothes he could find, a pair of his well worn jeans and a black t-shirt that belonged to Starsky. Working on automatic pilot, he snatched his keys, gun, wallet, and cell phone off the dresser, reflexively checking that the Python’s safety was set and turning on the phone. He slammed the front door and jumped into Starsky’s 1998 Dodge Avenger. Like almost all of Starsky’s cars, it was a bright screaming red. He shoved the key into the ignition and turned the radio off with an angry stab at the power button. He couldn’t deal with the voices and the noise.
His mind was stuck on one thought: Get to Starsky. He couldn’t even bear to think of what condition Starsky might be in when he got there.
Hutch quickly adjusted the mirrors and the seat to fit his slightly taller frame. It was something of a comfort to be driving his partner’s car, but it wasn’t enough. He needed his partner.
There wasn’t much traffic on the road this early on a Saturday morning and without Starsky’s company to keep him from drowning in his own thoughts he couldn’t stop himself from thinking the worst.
It couldn’t end like this. Not after they’d survived all those years out there on the streets. It just could not end like this. They’d been off the streets now for the better part of two decades. They were supposed to be safe.
After Gunther’s hit they had both faced up to the reality they had been avoiding for years. If they didn’t get out, one day of them would be going home alone permanently. The bullets that tore through Starsky’s body had also shattered the thin illusion that they were indestructible. In the end it came down to the need to hang on to what they had, to hang onto each other. And that meant finding a less dangerous way of life.
The night before Starsky had been released from the hospital, they made their decision. They weren’t going back, but they would remain partners in every way that mattered.
Hutch could still remember sitting on the edge of the bed holding Starsky’s hand. He hadn’t been able to look his partner in the eye but instead looked down at where they were joined. He had whispered, “I’m not gonna make it if you leave me behind.”
Just as quietly Starsky had answered, “How well do you think I’d do if it was you, huh?” Their grip on each others’ hands had tightened and they had sat there in silence for a few minutes, until Starsky had pulled Hutch up onto the bed and into his arms. The embrace was not as strong as he’d been capable of before but it was still strong enough to make Hutch feel safe and secure.
“We’re done, Hutch.”
“Yes.”
The simple words sealed another covenant between them, with as much unsaid as spoken. Wherever they went, whatever they did, they would do it together. But they would no longer be doing it on the streets.
They had expected that to be the end of their careers on the force, except for the fact that the chief of police refused to allow the departmental heroes to retire. Starsky and Hutch had been able to set their own limits as to what kinds of jobs they would and would not accept and had also taken and passed the Lieutenant’s exam. In the intervening years both had opportunities to move up in the ranks, but each time they both decided they’d rather be doing what they were doing.
It had been well worth giving up the excitement of the streets for a chance at a mostly regular schedule and the relative safety of their role as consultants and mentors to many of the younger officers. Both had to admit that it was a good compromise and Hutch knew he would always have felt something missing if they had completely walked away from the work they had done for so long. And he knew Starsky felt the same.
And now. . . A goddamned traffic accident. What a lousy way to die. And ironically enough after all these years Starsky had spent on the force, it wasn’t even in the line of duty.
Hutch would have much preferred that Starsky slipped away while he was holding him in his arms about 30 years from now. Or better yet, both of them falling asleep in each other’s arms one night and never waking up. Hutch had always known the odds of that were essentially nil. Someday, one of them would leave the other behind. He just refused to accept that the time was now and that Starsky had left him. Feelings of anger and loss swamped him and it took a great deal of effort concentrate on his driving.
It was only a few hours ago that he had held Starsky in his arms, made love with him, and then kissed him goodbye for the weekend. And now Hutch was driving as fast as he could as a result of the phone call, the call that every police officer’s spouse prays never to get. Calls like this had been hard enough to bear over the years; he’d gotten enough of them in the past when his partner was hurt or missing or both. In his mind, some of the most frightening words in the English language were, “You’d better get down here.”
He wondered if the crash was related to their current case, but he doubted it. They had rounded up all the major players in the drug ring, and even if someone was still on the loose, Starsky would hardly be high on the hit list. They had played too much of a peripheral role to really become targets. Every officer involved had believed the case was wrapped up tight, or Starsky would never have been able to leave for the car show in the first place.
This time, it was probably exactly what it appeared to be, an accident. It was late, Starsky had been tired, maybe another driver had been drunk. . . It was an accident. And his own life was over, too.
The tires squealed as he took the entrance onto the interstate too fast. He gunned the motor, shattering the 65 mile-per-hour speed limit on the highway as he wove in and out of traffic almost as deftly as Starsky used to back in their younger days. He couldn’t make the car move quickly enough as he sped down the road that would take him to his partner.
His wild days of jumping off fire escapes and onto the roofs of cars were long over and he seldom drove anywhere near as fast as he was right now. The speedometer read 89 and he forced himself to ease off the gas a little. Starsky would kill him if he wrecked his car, but Starsky was probably already. . .
He couldn’t bear the thought of being alone. It should have been both of them. It was supposed to have been both of us, damnit. They could have taken turns driving or he would have made Starsky stop for the night. He should have been there.
It was amazing that in the almost three decades of their shared history, there had only been one time when they’d almost voluntarily chosen different paths. It still made him shudder to think of that awful year. Back in late 70s there had been such a distance between them, and it culminated in the fight over Kira. It was hard to believe that they had almost ended over a woman but that embarrassing incident had only been the last outward sign of their own internal crises. She had only been a symptom, not the root cause. They had stopped talking to each other, stopped listening to each other, and although they still worked together in name, they had lost the fundamental connection that tied them together.
That was the key; always before and ever since, their crises had been shared ones. Oh, there had been times where they had been separated over the years, but none of those were of their own doing. The fiasco with Kira had been both neglect of their friendship as well as deliberate antagonism toward each other, and it was mostly his own doing. He had been so lost. . .and nothing he said or did made any difference. He desperately needed to do something to get some control back over a situation that had long ago slipped his grasp.
He had wondered more than once if the reason he had enjoyed her so much was because Starsky had been the last one in her bed and the closest he could come to being with his partner that way was to put his cock in the same place Starsky’s had just been. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t had the same woman before, but never after one had put in a claim, so to speak. Certainly not after one had fallen in love, or thought he had. The shrinks could have a field day with this and after a while he had given up trying to figure out where his head had been. He was just grateful as hell that Starsky had eventually forgiven him. In the second that Starsky had him pinned to the wall at Kira’s apartment he had a sudden moment of clarity in all the madness. He had seen the road branch out before him and had known beyond a doubt that if they had chosen separate paths at that point, they would never meet up again. It might be possible to live after a breakup as cataclysmic as this but not to remain partners. Although they would be forever entangled with each other in memory, they would not be able to face each other day to day.
It had become all or nothing by that time. He would have considered himself damned lucky to simply be able to remain in Starsky’s life as his friend and partner, and for a while he had thought that his actions had made that impossible. In the end they had gotten something neither had acknowledged he wanted or needed and they had found their way down the road together. It wasn’t that they didn’t have their arguments and disagreements, and the road wasn’t always smooth. But they had known from that point on that they were in it together and everything they did flowed from that truth. Hutch refused to believe that Starsky had gone off on his own road now, albeit not by choice, and left him alone after almost thirty years of friendship and twenty of marriage.
At least, if this really was it, then maybe Starsky never knew what was happening. Please, God, if this was it, he prayed, please at least let it have been quick. He couldn’t bear the thought of Starsky slowly bleeding to death in his car, not knowing if anyone was going to come for him. He could remember being pinned under his own car, and the certain knowledge that Starsky was looking for him had kept him going. But towards the end he had lost sight of even that. He had known he was dying; it was only a question of whether it would be from dehydration, shock, or blood loss. But his partner had gotten there in time.
Oh, Starsk.
His mind kept wandering to where he didn’t want it to go. Although they’d had so many years together, it wasn’t enough. He could never get enough of Starsky. No matter what they did or how often, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. They hadn’t exactly rushed last night but they hadn’t lingered either. There hadn’t been any time just to lie with Starsky and hold him. He had missed that last night and he regretted the lost opportunity even more now. Over the years, as they had gotten older, they spent more and more time simply cuddling. Many nights they just held each other instead of having sex, whereas when they were younger it usually had followed a vigorous lovemaking session.
They still said ‘I love you’ half a dozen times a day in their own language, with a look, in the way they took care of each other. They still kissed in the morning and at night and every now and then during the day when they could find some privacy.
He had been looking forward to finally having some time to themselves this weekend and he had his own ideas of the kind of attention he planned to pay to every inch of his partner’s body. And now he was going to have to identify that body and take him home for burial. It all seemed so unreal. But there was no delaying the inevitable and he tried to brace himself for the worst as he turned off the expressway.
The dispatcher who called had told him the accident had occurred very close to the Highway 5 exit in Gorman. She had been right. As soon as he turned off the interstate exit he saw a mass of emergency vehicles. Surrounding the crumpled red car were an ambulance, two fire trucks, and several squad cars, all of whose lights were flashing, illuminating the scene in reds and blues. Parked nearby was a white electric company truck with the familiar yellow and green Southern California Edison logo painted on its side.
Gorman School Road dead-ended at Gorman Post, forcing the traffic to turn either left or right at the intersection. The Torino had kept going straight, striking a light pole at a very high rate of speed and spinning out. The impact had cracked the pole in half, sending it crashing sideways across the front of the car, crushing the roof and making it impossible to open either of the doors. The front end was also smashed in from the force of the crash where the car had hit a retaining wall, pushing the hood back about three-quarters of the way to the dashboard.
With a heavy sigh, he climbed out of the Avenger and slowly walked toward the closest squad car. In any other situation he’d be running toward the Torino, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do now. He wasn’t sure he was ready to see Starsky’s body yet anyway. The longer he waited, the longer it was possible that it wasn’t really him, that he wasn’t really gone.
He found Bernie Peterson working on the accident report, but the trooper wasn’t really able to tell him any more than he’d already figured out for himself. They were still trying to extricate the body from the car and the victim had most likely died immediately or very soon after the crash.
Peterson extended his condolences, remarking that although he had only worked with Starsky for a short time, he was glad he had had the chance to know him. After numbly thanking him, Hutch slowly walked toward the remains of the car. The fire had been put out and the car sat under the bent pole, a charred and twisted wreck that blocked half of the intersection. Two paramedics stood near the driver’s side, waiting with a stretcher and body bag for the firemen to finish pulling the dented door away from the frame. Hutch knew that he shouldn’t watch as they cut the car apart and pulled the body of his partner out of the wreckage, but the human need to look at tragedy is inescapable. He had to know for sure, had to see his lover one last time. Part of him clung to the slim hope that the body in the car wasn’t Starsky. Even in the face of almost certain death he couldn’t give up on his partner.
Strangely enough, there were no skid marks. Maybe Starsky hadn’t even known what had happened. Hutch couldn’t figure out why he’d crashed. It was possible that Starsky could have fallen asleep; they had worked late and then. . . He wondered if their lovemaking had taken so much out of his partner that it had killed him, and another wave of guilt and remorse washed over him. But why would Starsky be off the main highway. . .unless he was in search of a restroom? Or a late night chili dog? Probably both. But then how could he fall asleep so quickly when he was looking for something in an unfamiliar area? And why would he be driving so fast?
The questions swirled around in his mind, but one thing was very clear. It was too late for Hutch to do anything for his partner. He hadn’t even been there, although he was supposed to have gone with him. He hadn’t even been awake. It was hard to believe that he’d been sleeping while his partner had been dying. . .
Drawing on his years of experience at similar accidents and in a vain attempt to keep his mind off of those thoughts, he tried to objectively catalog the scene. From where he was standing he could see the large wood shards of the pole on the ground, the metal that had sheared off and gone flying from the force of the impact, the blood on the driver’s side door and on pieces of glass on the ground. The glass glinted in the light, the sharp edges bloodied.
Several heavy electrical wires had also torn loose and draped over the car and fell onto the ground. The crumpled hood and the top of the car on the side nearest the pole were black from the fire but the back end and trunk of the car were still bright shiny red. The stripe across the back of the roof remained intact. Most of the damage was done to the passenger compartment and it was worse at the front. The dark red blood stood out on the candy apple red paint and he remembered the last time he had seen Starsky’s blood on the car. He imagined he could almost see the curly head lying on the steering wheel and the very thought broke his heart. “Oh, Starsk,” he whispered. “How the hell can you leave me like this?”
This was hardly the first time the Torino had been damaged but it was by far the hardest beating it had ever taken. This time, there wasn’t enough left to patch back together. After Gunther’s attack, Starsky used to joke that the department ought to give the Torino a medal for being shot in the line of duty. Hutch pointed out that the car hadn’t protected his partner, and then added angrily, “And neither did I.” That led to the first of many attempts by Starsky to convince his partner that his getting hurt was not Hutch’s fault.
“She still deserves a medal. She protected you and that’s worth everything. It was bad luck, babe; that’s all it was and it just happened that I was on the wrong side. I couldn’t have gotten to you fast enough either if it had been reversed. It just wasn’t humanly possible. Let it go, or the guilt is gonna kill you. And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather die naked in bed.” Several hundred variations on the same theme later and Hutch had finally started to accept the truth of Starsky’s words, although it was still hard not to blame himself.
The car hadn’t protected him then when he had been on the outside and hadn’t protected him now from the inside. Instead it was the cause of his death- the twisted metal had once been a car and was now a coffin. If only Hutch had been along like he was supposed to have been, he’d have been at Starsky’s side in the passenger seat. He knew he would have been crushed as well but at least they would be together. But both times Hutch had been safe and that weighed heavy on him.
Hutch closed his eyes against the scene in front of him but it didn’t help. In his mind he saw the mangled body in the car and at the same time also saw Starsky’s bleeding body from long ago lying on the ground next to it and the broken glass of the window and the torn metal from the bullets. It all came back to Starsky’s blood spilling out.
The scraping and groaning sounds of the heavy equipment the fire department was using to pry the twisted metal apart and the shouts of the men and women working to get the driver loose reminded him of what he was trying to avoid. He opened his eyes to the bright sunlight beaming down on the scene and saw the medics were shielding the body from his view as they finally extricated it from the car. He couldn’t help but move forward toward the ambulance, toward his partner.
Just as he was about to argue his way on board, his cell phone rang. He literally jumped at the unexpected noise, annoyed at the interruption. He and Starsky had the same department-issued model, but Starsky being Starsky had set his to play ‘La Cucaracha’ just to drive Hutch crazy. Hutch’s played a more sedate Bach invention. He couldn’t imagine who could be calling him, although it was possible that the news had already spread through the department. Of course, the one person in the world he wanted to talk to. . .
Flipping the phone open, he stared at the display in absolute disbelief.
The caller ID showed his partner’s cell phone number. That didn’t necessarily mean that it was Starsky on the other end of the line, he told himself, not daring to hope. The phone could have flown loose in the wreck and been discovered by a passerby. Or Starsky could have lost it somewhere along the way even before the accident; it wouldn’t be the first time one of them had misplaced a cell phone. Hutch was first in Starsky’s phonebook, just as Starsky was in Hutch’s, and it would be easy for anyone who found the phone to call him. But he still couldn’t give up the hope that it was his partner. He pressed the talk button with shaky hands and couldn’t help the stutter that escaped his lips.
“SSSStarsky?” he asked, stumbling over the name in a way he hadn’t in years. He hadn’t been this tongue-tied since a similar moment of disbelief over nineteen years ago, the moment when Starsky had told him he was in love with him.
“Hutch, you’re not gonna believe this!” Starsky yelled into the phone. The sound of that beloved voice had never been more welcome as relief and joy replaced the despair Hutch had fallen into.
“Starsk?” was all he was able to say as he turned his back on the scene and walked a short distance up the street and away from the wreck of a car and the body. The body of someone other than the love of his life. “Starsk?” he asked again.
“Someone fucking stole my car. She’s gone, Hutch!!”
Hutch had a death grip on the phone, holding it so tightly that his hand hurt, but not caring as it was his only tangible connection to his partner. Forcing himself to loosen his hold somewhat, he finally regained his voice. “I know. I hate to tell you this, love, but they wrecked it too.” He hated to just drop the news like that, but given the circumstances that was the best Hutch could do. He was so happy to hear Starsky’s voice and know he was alive and okay, but all the fear and stress of the morning had left him with very little energy to try and soften the blow. He knew how much Starsky loved the Torino, and although he would never admit it, the tomato had a special place his heart as well. But he loved Starsky far more and the relief that he hadn’t lost his partner overshadowed everything else.
“What the hell do you mean they wrecked it? How in the world do you know that? How bad is it?” The confusion was evident in Starsky’s voice as he asked his questions rapid-fire. Hutch knew Starsky didn’t think Hutch was teasing him- they had finally grown out of those childish games- but was completely baffled as to what was going on.
“I got a call early this morning that they found the car. Whoever stole it crashed it into a telephone pole. Took out a transformer and uh. . .”
“What, Hutch? Just tell me,” Starsky begged impatiently.
“She went 904A, buddy. Classic car-b-q. I’m sorry,” Hutch said, trying to take refuge in the humor as they had so often over the years.
“Totaled,” was Starsky quiet response. It wasn’t a question.
“‘Fraid so.”
“Damn.” Hutch knew it was just starting to sink in that the 24-year-old car which had survived so much on the streets, just as they had, had been taken out by a run-of-the-mill car thief.
“The worst part is that they knew there was someone in the car. . .” Even though he knew that the body wasn’t Starsky, the thought that it could have been still shook him.
Starsky picked up the thread, as they so often did in their conversations. “But they didn’t know who, did they, love?” Starsky’s voice got soft. “I’m really sorry, sweetheart, sorry that you had to go though this again. I didn’t know any of this was even going on until I woke up and saw the Torino was gone.”
“We. . . I. . . I thought it was you.”
“I don’t know who it is, but it’s not me. I’m okay. Mad as hell, but okay.”
“We got lucky again,” Hutch said quietly.
“Yeah, we did, love.”
Needing to change the subject, Hutch asked, “So what did happen?”
Starsky answered with his own question. “What time did we finally get off last night?”
“Had to be after midnight; remember changing the date on the report at the last minute?”
“Yeah, and by the time I dropped you off at home and you let me hit the road . . .”
“I ‘let you hit the road’? I don’t exactly remember you rushing out the door to get away from me,” Hutch teased and knew his partner was also smiling on the other end of the phone.
“Anyway, it had to be after two-thirty and it’s what, ’bout two hours between home and Bakersfield, but you know the way I drive. Got in a little before four-thirty and just crashed.” Hutch winced at the words just as Starsky started to apologize. “I’m sorry, bad choice of words. I got up around nine-thirty and got ready to hit the show, went outside and she was gone. Called the local boys and found out that I wasn’t the only one. The bastards took two other cars, a 1968 Jaguar and a really sweet ’66 Ford Cobra. I don’t know what happened to those but the Cobra’s gonna be a bitch to replace. And that’s all I know so far. Can you believe they stole my car?” Although they had spent the past five minutes talking about nothing but the fact that the car had been stolen, Starsky obviously still wasn’t any closer to accepting its loss.
“I believe it, Starsk. I saw what they did to it, too, and it wasn’t pretty.” Hutch then asked the question he thought he’d never get to ask again, not even attempting to contain the excitement in his voice. “When are you coming home? You want me to come get you?” He wondered if Starsky would still want to go to the auto show, but he doubted it. In his place, Hutch would want nothing more than to be home, and he suspected his partner would feel the same. He also figured that it would be pretty hard for Starsky to go to the show and see all the other cars and not have his. Losing his baby had surely taken all the fun out of the weekend and Hutch felt awful for his friend.
“Yeah, I’m gonna pass on the show. No point in going now anyway,” he said sadly. “It’d be great if you can come get me if they don’t need you there. You still at the scene? Where is that anyway?”
“Yes, I’m still here, and I’ve seen more than enough. We’re about an hour south of you, in Gorman. Let me just. . . Oh God, I’ve got to go tell the guys it’s not you. They still think it’s one of our own.”
“I wonder who it was? Wonder what happened to the other drivers too; there had to be a least two other people involved given the number of cars that are missing. Come get me and we’ll go from there.”
“You still at the Holiday Inn on Hughes?”
“Yep. Not like I can go anywhere. By the way, which car are you driving?” Starsky asked in a tone that indicated that he already knew the answer.
Hutch hesitated a second before answering, “Yours.”
“Thought so; she’s actually got air conditioning and can go faster than 45 miles per hour,” Starsky laughed. And was more reliable, but that was an old argument. Both knew without saying that Hutch would have automatically taken Starsky’s car just to feel closer to his partner.
The 1985 Ford LTD Crown Victoria Hutch drove was close to being a classic in age, although certainly not in condition or style. It was brown, of course. Once, when one of the many cars in Hutch’s long line of junk heaps had given up the ghost, they had discussed the possibility of keeping only one car to use day-to-day. Of course, they couldn’t agree on what to get. So they stuck with two cars and they still traded off driving to work. Even though neither wanted to admit to the other’s car they had titled all the cars in both names- partially in order to make things easier in the event something happened to one of them but mostly in the spirit of ‘What’s mine is ours.’ Having the three cars and the house listed in both names was one of the few ways they could put their marriage on paper officially.
“I’m really glad you’re okay, love. I’m too young to be a widower,” Hutch said, only half in jest. He had a feeling that he couldn’t shake and he didn’t want to hang up. He knew it was irrational but part of him still thought that once the phone connection was cut Starsky would really be gone. It helped so much to hear his partner talking the way he always did, to know that he was alive and safe. He didn’t want to let go of that reassurance.
Starsky must have been thinking along the same lines. “It’s okay, Hutch. Go tell the guys and finish up there. I’ll be here when you get here, promise. Love ya.”
“Love you, too,” Hutch said, and then forced himself to cut the connection.
In a much happier mood, Hutch walked back over to the squad car to update Peterson. It was difficult for him not to be euphoric at the knowledge that his partner was all right, even though someone else had died in the car.
He was only an hour away from Bakersfield, less actually since traffic wasn’t nearly as bad on a Saturday as on a regular workday. He barely resisted the temptation to use the siren and tried to keep the speed down. Starsky really would kill him if he saw him pushing 100 miles an hour in his car. It was okay if Starsky did it, but the rules were different for him and the fact that Starsky wasn’t actually in the car at the time of the offense didn’t matter one bit. They knew each other too well. Starsky would take one look at Hutch and know that he’d been mistreating his girl. ‘The Avenger is the only girl in my life now so I hafta to treat her right.’ He said that about all his cars. Hutch always played along and pretended to be jealous.
Driving in the light traffic didn’t require much effort and his thoughts again wandered as they had on the trip up to Gorman. This time his meanderings consisted of warm memories rather than regrets and fears. They had been through so much over the years.
He also took the time to really enjoy driving Starsky’s car, so seldom did he get the chance. It seemed that he rarely got to drive, although his perception was probably skewed by Starsky’s flashier car and driving skills. Hutch wouldn’t admit it but he did love this car and he thought the name was an appropriate fit for his partner. The Dodge Stealth he had prior to this one had been kinda cool too. They had been through a long line of cars together.
The first car Starsky had owned was a bright blue 1967 Ford Falcon that he had bought secondhand from his uncle. It was Starsky’s least favorite of all the cars he’d possessed over the years. The Falcon had lacked style, a cardinal sin in Starsky’s book, and had been replaced with the Torino as soon as their pay raise had come through in early 1974.
To this day, the license plate on the old Torino remained the same. Starsky probably could have gotten a historic plate but had kept the original since it was the one they had roamed the streets with. Hutch smiled at the thought. Starsky always had been as sentimental as he was, just a lot more reluctant to own up to it.
In 1980 they’d officially retired the Torino. It too had been a casualty of Gunther’s hit but Hutch had begged, bribed, and threatened Merle to get it repaired and restored as closely as possible to its original condition before Starsky was released from the hospital. It had been a mammoth job, but Merle had pulled it off and Hutch had been able to surprise Starsky and bring him home in his beloved car. But in the end, Starsky had decided that she’d done her time and served them well and it was time to get the car off the streets too. When they’d finally moved in together they’d found a place with a two car garage. After much debate, Starsky won the argument and got control of both parking spots for his babies, leaving Hutch to park his clunker in the driveway. Hutch’s reward was Starsky’s help in building the greenhouse and developing a garden that filled up the rest of their small back yard.
As a farewell to the old days, Starsky had insisted on taking the car out on one last trip and so they’d spent five weeks on the road. They started out by heading down the California coast to San Diego, and then out to the Arizona desert for a few days of camping, a stop in Phoenix and then up north through parts of Utah, staying in Salt Lake City to play tourist and then stopping on the way across Nevada for a weekend in Reno in a futile attempt to get rich quick. The return journey took them up through southern Oregon and finally back through northern California to San Francisco and back to home.
They’d logged over 3000 miles on the car that fall and enjoyed every one of them. Hutch hadn’t given Starsky any argument when he’d first proposed the trip, although his partner had been expecting to have to fight for it and was almost disappointed that he had given in so easily. By that time, Hutch would have gladly done anything to make him happy and he saw the trip as a good way to celebrate Starsky’s recovery as well as a chance for his partner to say goodbye to his longtime companion. It wasn’t until about halfway through the trip that it dawned on him that he had been set up and the whole thing was really Starsky’s way of giving Hutch a good memory of the Torino to hold onto instead of the searing image from the police garage. Sometimes he lost sight of how wise and perceptive his partner could be until he found a new way to show him. It was also a long overdue honeymoon of sorts for them, coming almost two years after they’d become lovers.
As he changed lanes to pass a slow-moving truck, he looked over to his right. He hated the fact that the seat was empty but knowing he was on the way to get Starsky made it all right. He reminded himself that the emptiness could have been permanent and it wasn’t. It also made him think of what had been Starsky’s last drive in the Torino, and he was very grateful that it wasn’t his last drive ever. Thank God he hadn’t been driving that car when it crashed. It had been a terrible end to a good life for the car, made far worse since someone had died in it. The penalty for joy riding shouldn’t be death.
He wondered if Starsky would want to try and replace the Torino. He wasn’t sure if it could be done. It would have been hard to replace after Gunther and probably next to impossible now, but if that was what his partner wanted they’d do their damnedest to find one and fix it up right.
He found himself counting down the miles and knew he was playing the lovesick fool but he didn’t care. Thoughts of the past had been a good distraction for most of the journey but he wanted to reconnect with his present and reassure himself that Starsky really was okay. It had taken a lot of willpower on his part not to pick up his cell phone and call him back, just to hear his voice again.
He was so caught up in his daydreaming that he almost passed the exit. The sign caught his eye just in time and he took the curve much faster than the posted 45 mph. Fortunately, Starsky’s hotel was less than a mile down the road, as he was now almost desperate to see his lover. The Dodge’s tires squealed as he made a hard left turn into the parking lot and slammed on the brakes. No Holiday Inn sign was ever more welcome than this one.
“Hey, watch it! I already lost one car today,” Starsky yelled as he came out of the lobby where he had been waiting. “The insurance company’s gonna cancel us for sure if I lose another one.” Jubilant at the sight of his healthy and whole partner, Hutch jumped out of the car, not even bothering to close the door behind him. He flew into Starsky’s waiting arms and buried his face in the crook of his shoulder, pulling him as close to him as he could. He knew he was shaking but he couldn’t stop, even as he felt his partner’s strong grip holding him steady.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m right here, it’s okay. It wasn’t me, I’m right here and I love you. It’s all right.” Starsky kept repeating the same words over and over and stroking Hutch’s back until he calmed down.
“I love you too, Starsk. So much.” Then he pulled back and startled his partner by pulling him into a deep kiss and to hell with who saw them or what they thought. He’d finally stopped worrying about that and right now he needed as much reassurance as he could get that everything really was all right.
“Cool it, Romeo. I already gave up the room.” But this time it was Starsky who started the kiss. “Of course we could always check back in. But we should probably go see what’s left of my car,” he said, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Hand over the keys; you’ve done enough to my car for one day. Probably traumatized her for life.” But he was teasing as he said it and Hutch could tell that he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been happy about sleeping alone last night.
“Hey, I drove two hours in that thing to get here, least you can do is show some gratitude. And I think you’re way too upset over the tomato being tomato paste to be driving.”
“I’ll paste you! Gimme the keys.” But Starsky was still laughing and so was Hutch.
“Make me.”
Starsky moved as if to wrestle Hutch to the ground and pulled him into a bear hug instead. Hutch hugged him back by reflex.
“Got ’em,” Starsky crowed, as he performed a victory dance. “I win.”
“How the hell did you do that?”
“Picked your pocket while I had you otherwise distracted. Fallback career in case this cop stuff doesn’t work out.”
“It’s a little late for that now, don’t you think?”
“Get in the car and put your damned seatbelt on already, willya?” Although the words were harsh, the tone was light. “Let’s go see what’s left of my baby girl.”
As they headed back south, Hutch quietly leaned over to put his hand on Starsky’s thigh. He just let it rest there, needing the contact and enjoying the warmth. Starsky in turn reached down and squeezed it briefly before returning his hand to the wheel. Hutch then moved his own up to lightly rub the back of his partner’s neck. Starsky just smiled contentedly.
“I’m going try and find out what the hell happened.” Driving with his right hand, he flipped open his cell phone with his left and asked Information for the number of the Gorman PD.
“Starsky!” Hutch yelled, trying get his partner’s attention away from the phone. “Starsky, you’re a cop, for God’s sake,” he said, exasperated with his partner’s foolishness. “You know better than to talk on a cell phone while you’re driving.”
This was not a new argument between the two of them, and although Hutch never won, he never stopped trying. “Hang up and drive, Starsk. I mean it. You already lost one car today and I’d really rather not be in it when you crash this one.”
Starsky paused his conversation long enough to take his right hand off the wheel and give his partner a gesture employed by every New York cab driver.
Hutch grabbed the dashboard and yelled, “Minimum of one hand on the wheel here, buddy!”
Starsky glared at him but quickly put his hand back down. Hutch gave up on trying to convince him to hang up the phone and settled for eavesdropping instead. He couldn’t make much sense out of the one sided conversion which mostly consisted of “Uh-huh”, “Really”, “No shit”, and
“Aw, that’s a damned shame.” He was glad when his partner finally hung up and let him in on the latest.
“It was just a bunch of kids, four of ’em altogether. Not a gang, thankfully, but a few teenagers’ idea of fun,” he said vehemently. “They haven’t made an official ID on the body yet but they think it’s a boy named Patrick Jenkins. The other three kids saw the accident and kept going. I guess they were scared, but I don’t understand it.” He shook his head sadly. “One of the guys was supposedly his best friend.”
“There wasn’t anything they could have done anyway, trust me. There wasn’t much left, and I suspect it burned pretty fast. He hit the pole dead on, knocked it over, it hit the car and then the transformer blew. That’s what started the fire.”
“We’ll find out in the report but you’re probably right. Still, you just don’t leave someone behind like that, Hutch. You just don’t.”
“I’m not arguing with you. What else did they say?”
“They did recover the other two cars. There’s some scratches and a dent in the driver’s side door of the Jaguar but the Cobra was fine. Turns out they both ditched the cars a few blocks over and hightailed it home. The big question is how in the hell they got up to Bakersfield in the first place?
“They probably heard about the show and stole another car to get there.” tab “Could be. They caught up with the rest of the group: two guys, the dead boy’s best friend and another kid, plus a girlfriend who went along for the ride. She got home and was apparently freaked out by the whole thing. At least someone was. She told her parents this morning and they called the cops. It took until now to put the whole thing together. She’s going to be charged as an accomplice to the thefts but they’ll probably go easier on her ’cause she made the call. The uniforms just got done rounding them all up.”
“How old?” Hutch asked in a tired voice.
“She’s 16, the boyfriend is all of 17 and so was the boy who was killed. The other guy is 18 so technically we got one adult and two juvies. No priors on any of them, came from a decent neighborhood, all of them were actually still in school. . . You just never fucking know, do you?”
“No, you don’t.” Hutch sighed and shook his head. “Same old story. They were probably just trying to be cool, steal a car, impress the girls, go for a joyride. It wasn’t their car so it didn’t matter what happened to it . Except that the kid wound up dead.”
“Stupid way to die, too. I feel sorry for his family. And the other kids.”
There wasn’t much to say to that and they traveled the next several miles in a thoughtful silence. In the course of Starsky’s phone call he had also found out that the scene had been cleared, so they had headed over to the Gorman police impound lot.
Starsky finally asked, “So what did exactly did this idiot do to my car? I know he hit a pole and started a bonfire, but give me the full report.”
“You sure you want to know?
“Not knowing ain’t gonna change anything.”
And you’d rather hear it from me, right, buddy?
“It wasn’t pretty, Starsk.” Hutch described the scene with enough detail to satisfy his partner, almost managing to hide how much the belief that the body had been Starsky’s had affected him. But nothing that concerned his partner ever escaped Starsky for long.
“Damn. I’m sorry you had to see that, babe.”
Hutch was still waiting for the explosion. He was surprised at how well Starsky had taken it so far, or maybe the reality just hadn’t set in yet. He glanced over to check on his partner but decided to let it go for the moment.
Starsky must have felt his stare. “What? You’re looking at me like I just grew an extra head or somethin’.”
Hutch reached his hand out toward Starsky, who saw the gesture out of the corner of his eye and took it in his own.
Carefully Hutch said, “You’re taking this rather well.”
Starsky laughed. “I’m nowhere near as hotheaded as I used to be. Hot-blooded, yes.” Hutch could tell by his smirk that he was thinking about their activities from the night before. “I don’t think it’s really going to sink in that she’s gone until I see her. For now I’m just real glad it wasn’t us this time.”
Keeping his eyes on the road, he slowly lifted their joined hands to his mouth and softly kissed the back of Hutch’s hand. He lowered them gently and went on. “I want to get mad about the whole thing, but it’s hard to get mad about my car when there’s a teenager who’s never going to see another birthday. If it had been you, well, you know how that would have gone down. Any day where we both get to go home is a good day. Anything else I can deal with.”
They fell into another comfortable silence until Starsky teasingly asked, “Are we there yet?”
“You’re driving, Starsk; you’re supposed to know those things. Don’t tell me we’re lost.”
“How about we’re just taking an unscheduled detour?”
“Starsky, please don’t tell me you’ve gotten us. . .”
“Oh, here it is,” Starsky said, attempting to sound nonchalant.
Hutch just gave him a mock glare and said, “Park the car, turkey.”
They found the Torino near the front of the lot next to a blue 1993 Geo Prizm that had met a similar but not quite as gruesome fate. Starsky cut the engine and unfastened his seatbelt but made no move to get out of the car.
“We don’t have to do this, Starsk. There’s nothing that the guys here can’t take care of.”
Starsky turned in his seat to face his partner. “I know we haven’t driven her much in years,” he said and chuckled a little at Hutch’s teasing, “Thank God,” muttered under his breath, “but I still loved that car and I do need to see what’s left. Maybe salvage something as a keepsake.”
“Are you sure you really want to see her like that?” It was strange for Hutch to talk about the car as if it were a person, but this wasn’t just any car. Over the years it had taken on a personality of its own and it was fitting to show this kind of respect. And if he could somehow ease the pain of his partner’s loss, it was well worth it. “There really isn’t much left. Wouldn’t you rather just have the memories and the pictures?”
“No, it’s okay. I wanna go. I think I have to. You know how much we owe that car; she saved us a coupla times over, you especially when I got shot. I’m always gonna be glad for that and I still think she should have gotten that medal. If you’da gotten shot, too, I don’t know. . . Anyway, I think I have to say goodbye. We owe her a lot. She’s the first car we ‘broke in’ too, remember that?” That comment was accompanied with a wink and a smile.
“Yeah, I remember. But not the last.” Hutch smiled too. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Starsky took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
Just as in years past, Starsky automatically went to the driver’s side as Hutch walked around to his usual place. Starsky looked at his partner over the crushed roof of the car. “Oh my God, Hutch, she’s. . .” At a loss for words, he just stared at the wreckage. Although his partner had tried his best to prepare him, the sight of the remains of his beloved car was almost enough to move him to tears. Hutch could see his determination not to cry over a car, even the one that had been his favorite for so many years. He knew that the mourning was as much for the memories the Torino represented as for the car itself.
Starsky walked around inspecting the car with a faraway look on his face, much the way he had looked at it on the showroom lot years ago. “She was the first car you came with me to buy. Remember that, Hutch, back in ’74? She was my first new new car too.” He carefully ran his hand over the twisted metal remains of the driver’s door. The sadness shone in his eyes.
‘How could I forget? You dragged me out there at the crack of dawn, which should have been my first sign this car was going to be trouble. Nothing except work gets you out of bed before the sun, not even me.”
“Hey, you’ve gotten me up before dawn plenty of times, big boy. You probably would have tackled me if I’d tried to get out of bed.”
“That’s true, but don’t change the subject. We spent seven hours there while you haggled with the dealer. Seven hours, Starsky, and then you wouldn’t even let me get in the damned car.”
“I let you in the car. You were in the passenger seat for that first drive up the coast if I remember.”
“You let me in the car just long enough to drive across the street to Macho’s Tacos. . .”
“Manny’s Tacos,” Starsky corrected automatically.
“Whatever. And then you made me stand outside the car. After seven hours of waiting for you to buy the damned thing, I got to sit in it for a total of five minutes before you kicked me out.”
As soon as Starsky had finished signing the papers and taken custody of the keys, he had headed right off the lot and directly to the nearest source of food. It was well after 3 p.m. and Starsky was starving since they had been at the car dealership since it opened at 8 a.m. Protective from the start, he wouldn’t allow Hutch anywhere near the car with food in his hand. So they ate across the parking lot and Starsky spent the time admiring the car from where he stood, since of course he wouldn’t let it out of his sight. Then they’d gone for a long drive along the Pacific Coast Highway, not getting back until close to midnight.
“Couldn’t have you ruin my fine new upholstery by dripping taco sauce on it. You never did learn how to eat one of those the right way,” he said, smugly.
Hutch started to respond and then a horrible thought struck him.
“You’re going to do it to me again, aren’t you?”
“Do what?” Starsky asked innocently.
“Drag me along car shopping? You love to do that to me.”
“Maybe. What’s wrong with car shopping? It’s fun and a chance to check out all the new models. An experience not to be rushed.”
“It’s an experience, all right. Especially with you.”
“Getting to test drive all those cars. . .”
“You get to test drive all those cars. I get to sit there and hang on for dear life. I also get to try to convince the salesperson you’re not a homicidal maniac who’s going to take off in the car, although you act like one. It’s a wonder you don’t drool on the seats.”
“Can I help it if I get excited?”
“Obsessed is more like it,” came Hutch’s dry response.
Starsky had a specific routine for finding a car which involved dragging Hutch’s protesting ass along to every dealership and new car show in the greater metropolitan area and forcing him to listen as Starsky read aloud vital information from every review book and new car magazine in existence, not to mention being taken along as a passenger on what seemed like hundreds of test drives.
They’d been through this process a total of four times. Luckily for him, Starsky’s conservative fiscal nature extended to his vehicles. He always treated his cars well and kept them in top condition so he could hang on to them as long as possible and ran them until they dropped. The Torino’s successor was a 1981 Ford Mustang and he was able to pay off most of that loan from the Gunther settlement. At least something good had come out of that horror, although to Hutch it was nowhere near enough to compensate for the pain his partner had suffered. Starsky just shrugged and said that since the worst was already over, he might as well enjoy the car and Hutch should just let it go.
When that car finally died at over a hundred thousand miles, Starsky had switched loyalties to Dodge and gotten a 1989 Stealth. The biggest decision in that purchase was the color. After much agonizing, Starsky had gotten the Mustang in black but never felt the dark shade fit his personality. This had given Hutch plenty of ammunition to tease him with, reminding his partner that it was hard to be flashy in a car the color of a hearse and that a nice, sedate black was perfect for the aging driver. Refusing to give in and repaint the car, Starsky had resolutely stuck it out, but the Stealth marked a return to bright red. That car had bit the dust late last year, leading to the- red, of course- 1998 Dodge Avenger that Starsky now drove.
“You do your homework, I’ll give you that.” Hutch always alternated between exasperation and amusement with the whole process. “I never know whether to kill you or just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“You never seem to complain much once we get the car home. As I recall you started that particular tradition, with this car,” Starsky replied, surveying what was left of the hood. “Now that was a very fine ride.”
And who was Hutch to argue with tradition? While he was usually sick to death of the process long before Starsky found the car of his dreams, it was still worth it every time for the joy it brought his partner. And then there was their other tradition of ‘breaking in’ each car. They always found a secluded place to park and christened each one of Starsky’s new toys. Although the Torino had been five years old at the time, they had christened that car during the farewell road trip. Hutch had even been able to fulfill a longstanding fantasy by taking Starsky over the hood of his own car. In the current car, Starsky had taken his own pleasure in the back seat. Making love in a car was great for the novelty of it but it was difficult to fit two men averaging six feet each into the available space, so they usually only did it the one time. He wondered if Starsky would let him take him on the hood of the new Torino.
For some reason they had never tried it in one of Hutch’s cars. Starsky would most likely complain about the dirty upholstery, or maybe it was because there was never any room in his cars to try anything too adventurous with all the stuff he hauled around in the way. Most likely it was because there was something more exotic about Starsky’s vehicles. Hutch always saw a car as a means of getting from one place to another and as a container for storing things. Starsky never had fallen for the car as status symbol crap, for which Hutch was profoundly grateful, but he did enjoy fast and flashy machines. For Starsky, his car was just an extension of the way he jumped into life with everything he had.
It was hard for Hutch to watch Starsky inspect the Torino’s remains. He had such a forlorn expression on his face, as if he’d lost something he could never replace. Although Hutch had never had the same devotion toward the car, he’d had enough of his own property intentionally destroyed over the years that he could completely empathize with Starsky’s loss. After all these years, he still missed that damned guitar.
He jerked back from his musings with a start as he saw his partner try to reach in through the shattered driver’s side window.
“Be careful in there, Starsk,” he warned. “The edges are sharper than they look.”
There’s so much blood, Hutch,” Starsky said in a hushed voice as he pulled his hand back. “It always amazes me how much blood is in one human being.”
Hutch slowly walked around to stand beside him. Quietly he said, “It’s not yours and it’s not mine, this time.”
“I know. Thank God for that. But it’s still human. I can remember being young and stupid and pulling dumb stunts, some of which probably should have gotten me killed. Especially back in New York. Just the luck of the draw, I guess.”
“Or an incredibly vigilant guardian angel,” Hutch suggested, reaching out to put a protective hand on his partner’s shoulder. I’m here, buddy.
“Could be. It’s a wonder she hasn’t quit in protest over some of the close calls we’ve had. . . I wonder if he had any brothers or sisters, a girlfriend? Did his parents suddenly become childless or is there someone who’s an only child now?”
Hutch knew his partner was thinking back to Lonnie Craig, another teenager who wouldn’t finish growing up. . .wouldn’t graduate high school. . .wouldn’t get a chance to do the things he loved ever again.
“It was fast, Starsk, had to be. I doubt he ever even knew what was happening. He probably never even saw the pole was there.” The words sounded weak to his own ears, but he just couldn’t find the right things to say. He was still shaken up from the early morning call and the thought that it had been Starsky trapped in the car. He knew that once all the events of the day had truly sunk in, he would be feeling the same sorrow his partner was suffering. It didn’t matter how many bodies a cop saw in the grind of the job, being in the presence of a life cut short still took a part of you each time. For now all he could do was stay close and see his partner though it, the same as Starsky would for him.
In an obvious attempt to change the mood, he asked “What were you looking for?” He was curious since there wasn’t much of value in the car. Starsky had taken his bag into the hotel room the night before and since they didn’t use it on a daily basis there wasn’t anything in the back seat or in the trunk. He was relieved when Starsky chose to allow the distraction and answer the question.
“I was hoping to get my good luck charm back, but I think it melted. There’s not enough left of the front of the car to tell, but I think it’s toast. Damn.”
He usually kept the medallion in the Avenger but had moved it to the Torino for this trip. The charm was silver and imprinted with a compass rose with an eagle in the center of the circle of the compass. The eagle was for protection while traveling and the compass sign was to ensure that the traveler never got lost on his way. Hutch had found it in a magic shop on one of their vacation trips several years ago and purchased it for his superstitious partner on a whim, intending it as a gag gift. Starsky loved both the idea of protection and the fact that Hutch had given it to him.
“I guess it didn’t work so well after all, huh?”
Hutch wasn’t sure he believed that the charm had any powers at all but he couldn’t argue with the results. “Sure it did; it protected you. You weren’t in the car when it happened and you’re safe. That’s what matters.”
“I know. She lasted 24 years; that’s damned good for a car. But we’re still going strong and that’s everything.” Starsky walked around to stand in front of the crushed hood and shook his head at the totality of the damage. Coolant and brake fluid slowly leaked from the engine compartment and mixed with the gravel and the dirt on the ground. More blood stained the cracked windshield.
“Hey, Starsky, come here.”
“What for? You find my good luck charm?” he asked hopefully, walking around to the back of the car where Hutch stood.
“No, but how about this for a keepsake?” He pointed to the trunk of the car which was dented but in better shape than the rest of the vehicle.
“Good idea, blintz. I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Help me get it off.” Even with the two of them working together, it still took a good five minutes to wrestle the blue license plate from the back bumper. Starsky brushed the dirt from the plate with his sleeve and held it fondly, running his hands over the raised yellow print that read 537 ONN. “Think I’ll hang it up in the garage, maybe next to a picture of the car.”
“Only you would build a shrine to a car.”
“Hey, this isn’t just any car. This is my car. Was my car. My baby. Well, if nothing else, this does give us something to do on the weekends.”
“What?” Hutch asked warily.
“Hit the car auctions and find me another one.”
“Trust me, Starsk, there’s only one striped tomato like that one in the universe, and that was more than enough.”
“Maybe I can get one off eBay?”
“Last time you went on eBay we spent three months trying to get our money back from that guy you bought that fake Movado sports watch from. No more online auctions for you, buddy. Besides, I changed the password.”
“Bet I can guess it. Probably used ‘gordo’ or ‘blintz’ or ‘partner’ or something obvious like that. I know you. But you owe me a car anyway, so you gotta help me find one. We’re off tomorrow, we can start looking then.”
Hutch smiled at the memory. At the time, Starsky had quite correctly pointed out their diverse taste in cars, but he’d also gone to a great deal of trouble to find a car that almost exactly matched the one that had been totaled when Hutch had been run off the canyon highway by Vic Humphries’ hit man. He’d found a Hutchinson original, all right, an old beat-up LTD the color of primer. He had loved the car, but more importantly, he had loved the fact that Starsky had bought it for him. He wanted nothing more than to start helping Starsky in the search for a replacement car. But the reality of their job once again stood in their way.
“No, we can’t.”
“Why not? What else do we have to do on a Sunday, Hutch?”
“There’s a gigantic stack of reports just waiting for us to fill in all those lovely blanks. Remember? That would be our project for tomorrow.”
“Oh, yeah. I was hoping you’d have them finished by now.”
“I probably would have if I hadn’t had to chase after you,” Hutch teased. More seriously he continued, “But we’ll find you another Torino, babe, I promise. It might take a while but we’ll find one. Probably have to get it repainted to match the original but that shouldn’t be too hard to do.”
“No, Hutch, I don’t think so,” Starsky said slowly, His tone was uncharacteristically negative and Hutch looked at him worriedly.
He went over and hugged him from behind. “Don’t think what? That we’ll find one or that we’ll have to repaint it? Trust me, we will. No one else drove around in a car that looks like a Coke ad back then and I only did it under duress. But we’ll find one for you, I promise. I know it’s hard seeing it like this and it won’t be exactly the same but. . .”
“That’s just it,” Starsky said, turning around in Hutch’s embrace to face him. “She was one of a kind. Like you. Like us. Like that time when it was the three of us on the streets. The more I think about it, the more I think she can’t be replaced and I’m not so sure I really wanna try. We might be able to get a car and make it look the same, but it won’t feel right. The Torino had scars, she had history and we could pull her out sometimes and remember what we were like back then. But we never really tried to relive it. You can’t go back like that or you get stuck. We’d be trying to get back something we passed a long time ago and there’s nothing wrong with where we’re at now. I loved that car and I loved what she meant to both of us, but it’s time to let her go.” He leaned up slightly to close the distance between them and pulled Hutch to him for an intense kiss. When they pulled apart he said, “But I think I’ll keep you. Lets go home.”
Together they turned and walked away together from the wreckage, but Starsky stopped before they had taken more then a few steps. “Hang on a second; there’s one more thing I gotta do.” Starsky went back to give the car’s roof one last fond pat. “Goodbye, old girl. Rest in peace.”
Hutch was waiting for him at the other end of the lot and he instinctively caught the keys that came sailing towards him. “Time to go home, Hutch. Wanna drive my car?”
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