Still recovering from Gunther’s hit, Starsky is finally approved for desk duty just as his relationship with Hutch is running into obstacles. When Hutch observes Starsky socializing with a blond male stranger, tensions escalate between them, threatening their partnership, even their entire future.
Commitment was a 91-page slash Starsky & Hutch fanzine published in 1988 by Cheryl M. and Lucy. The zine originally was produced on a high quality cream-colored paper. The art is scanned directly from the zine. Artists in the zine include Judy Jones, Ruth Kurz, Linda McGee, Katherine Robertson, and Maureen B.
The squadroom was quiet, empty actually, except for Hutch and his temporary partner, Ray Johnson. He hadn’t wanted a new partner, temporary or otherwise, but with Starsky’s prolonged hospital stay and recovery, he hadn’t been given any choice. Now, after nearly a year, he was almost used to looking across the desk and seeing Johnson sitting there, wheat-colored hair, blue eyes and impossibly young. Rubbing a hand hard over tired eyes, he stifled a yawn, then glanced at the clock. It’ll be quitting time soon, I wonder what Starsky’s up to?
The phone rang and he snatched the receiver from its resting place, “Hutchinson…”
“Hi, Hutchinson, whatcha doin’?” Starsky’s voice, bright and cheerful.
“Winding down the day. Where are you?”
“Home. I got a notice from the board today…”
Apprehension nagged at Hutch and he breathed a silent prayer, “What’d they say?”
Silence, but he could hear the rustling of paper on the other end. He glanced at Ray and nodded when his companion mouthed Starsky? C’mon, Starsky, dammit, tell me. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“They say I can return to limited duty on…Monday!”
Relief and joy washed over him, filled him, and his knees would’ve given out if he hadn’t already been sitting, “Fantastic, babe. Let’s celebrate.”
“Okay. When? I gotta spend all day tomorrow in therapy.”
“And I promised to let Ray try to beat me at racket ball. How about Sunday?”
“Sure, Sunday’s fine.”
“Spaghetti dinner at my place?” Hutch could feel the grin spread, Starsky was finally off the sick list. Limited duty, true, but it was a start and soon, he’d have his partner back.
“I’ll bring the bread and wine. Hutch, uh…I’ve got something kinda important ta tell ya’, too.”
The suddenly serious tone sobered Hutch, “Important?”
“Yeah, but it’ll wait ’til Sunday. Gotta go, I’m supposed to meet Huggy at six.”
“Okay, see you Sunday if not before.”
The line went dead, and Hutch absently replaced the receiver. He looked up at Johnson, “Starsky starts back on duty Monday.”
“That’s great, Hutch. Sounds like it won’t be long before the two of you are together again.”
Hutch didn’t miss the wistful note in the young voice. He’d be glad to be partnered with Starsky once more, but at the same time, he’d miss Johnson. They had a lot in common. Both came from Minnesota originally, and both had graduated from the same college albeit with different majors.
“We are still on for tomorrow?” Hutch asked.
“If you’re sure you want to.”
“Of course I want to, why wouldn’t I?”
Johnson didn’t answer, silently stapling the finished report and adding it to the others in the Out Box. They maintained the slightly strained silence while signing off duty and walking to their respective cars.
Johnson broke it, “See you tomorrow, around ten?”
“Ten’s good. Want me to pick you up?”
“Nah, I’ll meet you in the locker room at the club.”
“Okay, see you at ten.”
Saturday morning arrived quickly and Hutch tied Johnson two games each, proving he was still fit for an old man. Now, showered and dressed, he stopped at one of the pay phones on the way out of the club. Dialing Starsky’s number, he wasted time listening to it ring. Where are you, Starsk? Why can’t I contact you? Are you trying to avoid me? What do you have to say that must wait until Sunday? He still hadn’t talked to his friend when it was time to pick up Kathy for their dinner date.
She flowed into his arms as soon as she opened the door. Fair hair fell to her shoulders and silk blouse and pants drifted gracefully, cinched tightly at her waist. But, while Hutch returned the embrace and eager kiss, a part of his mind was on Starsky. “Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care, surprise me.”
“Do you mind if we stop by the Pits for a minute? I’ve been trying to reach Starsky all day.”
“No. Is he joining us? Patty’s home, we could make it a foursome.”
I wish. “Too late now, but at least I’ll know he’s all right.” If asked, he couldn’t have said why he was worried about his partner, he just was. It had something to do with the way Starsky had announced that he had something to tell Hutch, then had made himself scarce.
The Pits was wall-to-wall people when Kathy and Hutch entered. Seating her at a recently vacated table, he made his way to the bar where Huggy presided. Dressed in a bright red jump suit and yellow shirt, he was hard to miss. Raising his voice to be heard above the din, he asked, “Hey, Huggy, have you seen Starsky?”
“What do I look like, his keeper?”
“No, you look like a traffic light. Have you seen him?”
“He was here earlier, but left. He was with a date.”
“Thanks.” Puzzled by Huggy’s tone, but unable to pursue it because Huggy moved off, clearly ending the discussion, Hutch rejoined Kathy.
The night passed with dinner, then some dancing. It was late when Hutch dropped her off at her apartment. He was up for an early morning run, then spent the remainder of the morning shopping for dinner. He hated shopping, but wanted this meal to be special. By mid-morning, the homemade spaghetti sauce bubbled merrily on the stove. A red-and-white checked table cloth adorned his table, an old wine bottle complete with partially burned candle, sat in the center. He added his grandmother’s china and crystal and was ready for Starsky when he arrived at seven. The familiar tattoo beat on the door, but it didn’t open. As Hutch crossed the room, a niggling apprehension hovered when he remembered Starsky’s words, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
He opened the door, “Come in, you idiot. Since when do you knock?” Returning to the kitchen, he added pasta to boiling water.
Starsky didn’t respond to the question, “Bread, warm from the oven at Donetelli’s, and Chianti. Frankie promised me this was a very good year.” Starsky bounced into the small apartment.
Hutch took the proffered bottle and inspected the label. He breathed a half-whistle of respect, “Yeah, Starsk, a very good year.”
“Good.” Energy crackled around Starsky, and he moved restlessly from place to place. To the stereo to put on music, then to check the plants, finally into the kitchen to smell the sauce. Hutch watched him, wondering at the mood, “What did you want to tell me?”
“After dinner, okay, Hutch?”
Why not now? “Uh, sure. Do you know where you’ll be assigned, yet?”
“Huh-uh. I haveta report ta Dobey Monday. Limited duty, wherever it is. Damn. I feel ready for the streets, now.” He brought his fist down hard on the sink counter.
Hutch rubbed hunched shoulders, gently, “Trust the doctors, Starsk. Don’t be in too much of a hurry.”
“I’m not a desk jockey, Hutch, you know that.”
“I know, babe.” But, if I had my way, that’s where you’d stay. “I’ll help all I can.”
“Yeah,” Starsky shrugged and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, “Supper ready?”
Hutch squeezed an arm, strangely reluctant to break contact, “Go sit down, I’ll dish it up.”
Starsky poured wine into the gleaming crystal, while Hutch attended to the spaghetti. Setting the platter in the middle of the table, he started back toward the kitchen when the doorbell rang.
“Stay put, Starsk, I’ll get it,” Hutch opened the door and his arms were at once full of lavender-scented blonde, “Lucinda! Hey, Starsky, it’s Lucinda.”
Starsky stood and waved a hand in the direction of the couple at the door, “Hi, Lucinda.”
“Hi, Dave. How’re you doing?” Arm firmly around Hutch, she moved toward the table, pulling him with her.
“He goes back on duty Monday.”
“Limited duty,” Starsky interjected.
“We’re celebrating. Join us?”
“You only planned on two. Maybe I’ll take a rain check.” Hutch looked at her, pink tongue caught between even white teeth and color high in her cheeks. She’d blundered in on a private celebration. He felt sorry for her. She had been there for Starsky, a lot when he hadn’t been able.
“No, there’s plenty, isn’t there, Starsk?” He didn’t miss the fleeting expression that crossed Starsky’s face before he answered, “There’s more than enough. Hutch always cooks for a crowd. I’ll get another plate.”
While Starsky went for more dishes, Hutch seated Lucinda, then went for the salad and bread. When he returned Starsky was pouring her wine and they sat down at the same time.
Raising his glass, he smiled at Starsky, “I’d like to propose a toast…,” Starsky smiled back, as he and Lucinda lifted their glasses, “…to my partner. I’m glad you’re back.”
“M’not back, yet,” Starsky’s grumble was barely audible over the clinking crystal, but the smile stayed in place.
Lucinda helped herself to salad, then passed the bowl to Starsky, “What will you do while you’re on limited duty?”
“Don’t know,” Starsky didn’t elaborate.
“They’ll tell him on Monday.” Hutch added, dishing up spaghetti. He was unsure if the strain was coming from himself or Starsky. His partner had known the friendly stewardess almost as long as Hutch, but tonight he seemed withdrawn. When he did join in his mirth sounded forced. Hutch didn’t miss the aimless way his fork moved the spaghetti around on the plate. What’s the matter, Starsk? I thought we were celebrating? But he felt hesitant to voice his concern.
“More spaghetti, partner?”
“No, it tastes great, Hutch. I’m just not hungry.”
“Ice cream?” Hutch rose, intending to take the dirty dishes into the kitchen and bring back dessert.
“No, thanks, really, I’m not hungry. I’ll help do the dishes, then call it a night. I hafta get ready for tomorrow.”
Detouring behind Starsky, Hutch massaged his shoulders, instantly aware of a tension that hadn’t been there earlier. “Something wrong?”
“No, just tired.”
“Go home, then. See you tomorrow, I’ll call.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Shoulders drooping, he headed toward the door. “G’night, Lucinda. See ya’ in the mornin’, Hutch.”
He left, shutting the door between them, leaving Hutch wondering what had changed. He turned back to Lucinda and caught her clearing the table. “Hey, you don’t have to do that.”
“I know, I want to. C’mon, if we both pitch in, it won’t take long.”
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen sparkled. Lucinda hung her dish towel on the refrigerator and turned to Hutch, “That was nice, perfect lift for a working girl.” She picked up her purse, “I’ve gotta run. See you next time I’m in town? I’ll call first, I promise.”
Hutch pulled her to him and kissed her, “Stay?”
“Can’t, I’ve got a flight out at six. I’d have to get up at four if I stayed here, next time, maybe? I just wanted to see how Dave was doing.”
“Thanks.”
“For what? You fed me dinner.”
“For caring.” He watched her leave. They had shared a great relationship over the years. Good friends, good sex and a lot of fun without any strings. He turned back to the strikingly empty room. What had happened? The evening started out fine…until Lucinda arrived. He said he had important news. Ease off Hutchinson, if it’d been that important, he’d have told you. After all he didn’t object to her joining us…not exactly.
Nothing else to do, unless he wanted to wallow in guilt, and he didn’t consider himself all that guilty, Hutch went to bed. Starsky could’ve asked Lucinda to leave, she would’ve understood, he continued rationalizing as he fell into a deep slumber.
The next morning, before leaving for the station, he called Starsky…no answer. When he arrived at Metro, Hutch expected to see the Torino parked in front of the building and was surprised by its absence. Worried, he called Starsky again, when he reached his desk…still, no answer. Seeing Dobey arrive, he hung up and called out, “Hey, Cap,” he waited for the man to turn, “I thought Starsky was starting back on duty, today?”
“He was here early. I assigned him to the D.A.’s and Department of Defense’s Task Force on Gunther’s Industries. He’ll be working out of the Federal Building.”
“How’d he take the news?” Hutch felt a lurch in his gut. What the hell was going on? Starsk must be furious.
Dobey raised his eyebrows and hands in a gesture Hutch recognized, “No argument, thanked me, even.”
He was pissed about limited duty last night and today, he’s happy? Wonder what changed his mind? That’s not like Starsky at all, he thought. Reaching for the phone, he got an outside line and dialed the Federal Building, “Sergeant Starsky, please, he’s with the Gunther Task Force.” He was put on hold and asked to wait for what seemed like hours and in the end Starsky wasn’t available, so he left a message.
“Hey, Starsky’ll call back. Maybe he’ll even meet us for lunch.”
Hutch looked up to see that Johnson had arrived. His partner, temporary partner, he reminded himself, stood there munching on a donut. It was an act so reminiscent of Starsky that Hutch thought he was hallucinating. Shaking off the feeling, he stood and headed toward the door, “C’mon, Ray, we’re not accomplishing much here.”
“Where are we going?” Johnson, all enthusiasm, asked as he hurried to catch up.
“The streets, maybe something’s happening.”
But nothing was and the day stretched on and on. Finally, it was time to leave and he headed home. Thinking over the day, he decided he’d been damn intolerant all day, he owed Johnson an apology. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that Starsky was acting strange. On a hunch, he swung around and detoured by Starsky’s apartment. The parking space in front was conspicuously empty. Now, he really was worried, Starsky still needed his rest, he should have been home hours ago.
Maybe I should try Huggy? No, not yet, there’s got to be a logical reason for him not being home. He does have a right to come and go without telling me. But, even though the thoughts were true, they didn’t alleviate the concern. He spent the rest of the night doing his laundry, reading and half-heartedly studying for the lieutenant’s exam, none of which he wanted to do, but all filled in the evening.
Tuesday was much the same, quiet day, boring night and no Starsky. By the time he reported for duty Wednesday morning, he was ready to put Huggy onto Starsky.
Before he reached his desk, the phone rang and Johnson answered, “Johnson… Yeah, just a minute, he’s right here. Hey, Hutch, it’s Starsky.”
A tingle of excitement flittered through Hutch’s stomach as he picked up the phone, “Hi, Starsk, how’s it going?”
“I’m drowning in computer printouts. Sorry, I couldn’t get back to you on Monday. It’s taking me a while to get a handle on things.”
“S’okay, I had a date with the laundry Monday, anyway.”
“Yeah? Me, too, after class. Saw Sal, last night, after work.”
Oh, forgot about his college courses. “Regular social butterfly, aren’t you? Can we get together tonight?”
“Sorry, gotta work late. I’m behind because I can’t work this computer.”
The sight of Starsky plucking away at the computer keyboard like he did on a typewriter, lingered in Hutch’s mind and he couldn’t help laughing.
“S’not funny,” Starsky sounded like a sulky little boy.
“My turn to be sorry. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. The department has them everywhere now.”
“So you say. Gotta go. Let’s try to get together later this week.”
“Looking forward to it, “Hutch slowly replaced the receiver, feeling like a door had slammed shut in his face.
“Hutch, Johnson,” Dobey called, coming toward them from his office, “this just came in. Dead body at the Twin Pines Motel. Here’s the address.”
Hutch glanced at the slip of paper the captain handed him, then pulled his jacket off the chair back and headed for the door, Johnson at his heels.
At the scene, flashed badges got them directions from the uniformed officers already there. Hutch stopped at the door of the neat-as-a-pin room and looked around. Lab and coroner’s teams cluttered the small area. A queen-sized bed was the center of interest. The nude body of a young teenager was reflected in the mirrors overhead.
“What’ve you got for us?” Hutch asked as he entered.
The Medical Examiner, a small dark haired woman, looked up from where she squatted near the bed, “Death by strangulation, probably. She’s been here at least a day. I’ll give you more after the post.”
“Window’s painted shut, Hutch. No one left this way,” Johnson observed from the window at the head of the bed.
“Anyone see anything?” Hutch, turning away from the body, asked one of the uniform’s at the door.
“The manager’s in the office. Says he’s been out sick the last three days. Hired a drifter to man the desk until he felt better,” the man answered.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Hutch stalked out of the room.
“What about the other tenants?” Johnson asked.
Hutch looked at his partner. Well, that’s what they teach at the academy. The kid still hadn’t learned that tenants in this type of motel seldom knew anything, “You go ahead, kid. I’ll talk to the manager.”
Hutch retraced his steps down the cracked cement walk, careful to avoid broken glass and trash. A sagging, heavy-set man lounged behind the desk. His eyes were rheumy, nose red. Spider-thin red lines radiated from darker red areas scattered on his face, “You the manager?”
“Yes, sir. Need a room?”
Hutch flipped his badge in the man’s face, “What’s your name?”
“Rupert Samuels, Sergeant. What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me the name of the girl in apartment six.”
“I dunno. I was sick, you see…”
“You were drunk…show me the register.”
“Well, uh…”
“I can close you down,” This was the sort of thing that made Hutch sick. A young girl, runaway probably, lay dead and no one even knew her name; nor did they care. He missed Starsky’s street sense and lightning fast intuition. But Starsky wasn’t his partner now, Ray was and it was Hutch who was more streetwise.
Johnson finally did manage to find an aging hooker who thought maybe the girl’s name was Candi, but she didn’t know a last name and “Candi” was more than likely a street name.
Later, following Ray into the Pits, Hutch tried fruitlessly to think of someone, anyone, who might be able to shed some light on this case.
“Hey, Hutch, my man, what’s happenin’?”
“Lunch and information, not necessarily in that order.”
“Angie, two specials,” the thin man yelled over his shoulder, then turned to Johnson. “How ya’ doin’, Ray? Blondie treatin’ you right?”
Ray laughed, “I’m fine, Huggy and, yes he’s treating me right.”
Huggy turned back to Hutch, “Now that the amenities are over, what kind of information?”
Hutch pulled out the Polaroid taken at the crime scene, and laid it down on the bar-top in front of Huggy, “Seen this girl around?”
“Maybe…” Huggy picked up the picture and studied it. “Yeah, calls herself, Candi. She’s a hooker…was a hooker.” He laid the picture back on the counter.
“Got a last name?”
“Not that I heard. I’ll ask around, let you know what I turn.”
“Who’s her pimp?” Johnson joined in.
“Don’t think I ever heard she had one. Possibly free lances, but there’s not much of that going on ’round here. The other pimps don’t like loners. They think, seeing a loner might give their girls ideas.” Huggy tilted his head toward the ceiling slightly, then back to Hutch. “Talk to Slim Willie. He runs a string of young meat like this. Tell him Huggy sent you, he owes me.”
“Thanks,” Hutch started to ask about Starsky, but their food arrived and Huggy drifted off as the small bar began filling up with the lunch trade. He was the only other person Starsky might have talked to.
“This is the part of the job that I hate,” Johnson muttered around his hamburger.
“Then you hate ninety-nine per cent of the job. Why do you stay?”
“I didn’t mean the legwork, I meant the attitude that human life has no value. Nobody even knows who that girl was. Worse, they don’t care.”
The statement so closely echoed Hutch’s earlier thoughts that, for a scant moment, he didn’t realize Johnson had spoken, “Yeah, I know what you mean. But don’t let yourself get burned out because you care too much.”
“That’s what Joanna keeps saying, but I gotta believe we make some difference or it all seems pointless.”
“Oh, we do, Ray, we do, only in small isolated instances, not in the big picture.” Shit! Why do I stay?
They found Slim Willie in one of the greasy spoons, holding court with his girls, none of whom looked older than sixteen. But Hutch said nothing, letting it slide, for now; he needed Slim Willie’s help.
Slim was a misnomer, as Willie was anything but, his skin hung in thick folds everywhere, his eyes and mouth sunk so deep that they were almost hidden. “Whadda ya’ want, cop?”
“Help?” Hutch placed the photograph on the table, “Know her?”
“M’not sure. What’s it worth, if I do?”
“I’ll overlook the ages of your charges, today, and not run you in.”
Willie shifted nervously, his considerable bulk rippling like jello, “All my girls are over eighteen.”
“Prove it.” Hutch snapped.
“Her name is Candi,” One of the girls piped up, apparently anxious to protect her meal ticket.
“Anyone else know her?” Slim Willie evidently decided cooperation was the wiser choice.
“Yeah,” a dark-haired Latin beauty added, “I think her last name was Spencer, but Candi was her street name . I don’t know her real name.”
“Know her pimp?” Johnson asked.
“Don’t think she had one, exactly,” Willie spoke up, “She worked for that new escort service… uh… L&M Escort… yeah, that’s it.”
Hutch leaned across the table and patted a pink cheek, “Thanks, Willie, you’ve been a big help.”
“Up yours, cop.”
“L&M Escort was boarded up, with a huge sign plastered across the front, telling the world GONE OUT OF BUSINESS. A check of the business license listed the Hobart Corporation as owner of the building as well as the escort service. They still hadn’t worked through all the dummy corporations, when they signed off duty. Hutch fervently prayed that no more young girls would turn up dead while he and Johnson took their allotted time off.
Driving home that evening, after dinner at Ray’s, Hutch spotted the Torino and decided to follow, hoping he and Starsky could still get together for a beer before it got too late. Then he noticed the blond in the passenger seat, and was instantly, inexplicably, upset. He followed until, getting caught at a stoplight, he lost sight of the car and wasn’t able to find it again. Recognizing the area as near the Pits, he went inside, praying that Starsky was there.
“You must be hurtin’ to come in here, all alone, Hutch,” Huggy greeted him from behind the bar.
“Have you seen, Starsky?”
Huggy’s expression was, at once, guarded, “Not lately, why?”
“I lost the Torino nearby and thought he might’ve stopped in here.”
“S’not my turn ta’ watch him.”
“Dammit, Huggy, I’m worried about him. Sunday, he said he had something important to tell me, but he didn’t…”
“Damn,” Huggy said, softly, and Hutch almost missed it.
“…and I’ve been trying all week to connect with him.”
“So call him.”
“He’s never home. Tonight I saw him with a blond.”
“Starsky likes blonds.”
“Men?”
Huggy shrugged, but didn’t look surprised, “Ask your partner.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m telling you to ask your partner,” Huggy moved off and Hutch didn’t try to stop him. He finished his beer and headed home.
Once in his apartment, he watered the plants, showered, read the newspaper, then finally gave in, and dialed Starsky’s number, but it rang and rang without being answered. He turned in and spent a restless night, staring wide awake into the darkness, or dreaming of Starsky with any number of faceless blonds. Unable to sleep longer, he showered, shaved, then went in early, hoping to finish running down the owner of L&M Escort. Starsky was at his old desk when Hutch entered.
The squadroom was quiet. No one else was there and, for a change, the phones weren’t clamoring for attention.
“Morning, partner. How’s the Gunther case?” Where the hell have you been and why are you avoiding me?
“Lousy,” Starsky glanced up from a handful of computer readouts that lay on the desk in front of him, “What happened to your moustache?”
“It got in the way of my razor.”
“Oh.” He turned back to the sheaf of papers.
What’s the problem, Starsk? “We’ve got to talk, want to come for dinner tomorrow night?”
“We tried that once, it didn’t work. Your ladies are more important.” His bitter words took Hutch by surprise and when Starsky glanced up, there was pain in his eyes.
“You pick the time and place and I’ll be there,” Hutch said quietly.
“I can’t promise anything. I’ll let you know.” He sighed deeply, then gathered up the green-striped pages in front of him, “Look, I just stopped by to drop these off. We’re automatically alerted anytime someone runs a check on any of Gunther’s properties.”
“L&M Escort?”
“You got it. Thomas Barrister is the man ultimately responsible for this leg of Gunther Enterprises, but he’s in jail.”
“I thought it was Bates?” Hutch remembered the dead man slumped in the chair in Gunther’s office, cup still clutched in his hand.
“Barrister took over when after Gunther was arrested. We picked him up last week.”
“Oh. Do you know who’s running things, now?”
“Huh-unh. I thought maybe you could get some leads from here,” as he talked, Starsky stood, handed Hutch the readouts, and started towards the door.
Reluctant to have him leave, Hutch took a half-step in his direction, “Starsk?”
“I said I’d call you.” Walls were up and the no trespassing sign flagrantly displayed and Hutch knew he wouldn’t get inside without a fight. He might have pursued it then, except any further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the desk sergeant and Starsky made good his escape.
“What ya’ want, O’Brien?” Hutch didn’t succeed in keeping the frustration out of his voice.
“Call just came in, another hooker dead. Detective Johnson was at the desk when it came over the radio. He sent me up to get you, said he’d be waiting in the car.”
This scene was similar to the first, the differences were a different motel and the description of the victim. She was a tiny oriental girl that went by the name of Lotus. She also, was formerly employed by L&M Escort. Routine checks of Missing Persons failed to turn up any information. No one had reported either girl missing.
“Sad little girls that someone just threw away. Does it ever get any easier, Hutch?” Johnson stood there, looking down at the floor with his left hand resting on his belt, while his right plowed furrows through his hair.
“Not really. You just learn to keep them at a distance and most of the time, you succeed.”
What would Starsky do, now? How would he make the frustration less? He wouldn’t, he’d kick something or throw something, and in laughing at him, the tension would ease just a little…just enough.
They spent the rest of the day at the computers trying to make some sense of Starsky’s papers. They hadn’t yet when their shift was over. Hutch tried Starsky’s number before leaving but there was no answer. This is becoming a routine, buddy, I call and you don’t answer.
“A new restaurant opened out by my place, want to try it?” Johnson had his jacket on, and was already standing at the door.
“Sure, why not.” Better than trying to second-guess Starsky.
The food was mediocre, not really to Hutch’s taste, but he made small talk, ate, and left as soon as possible. Passing a high class restaurant, Hutch spotted the Torino parked in the lot. Wonder what Starsky’ s doing in this part of town? Pulling to the curb, he decided to see if it actually was his partner’s car. Before he could do more than turn off the lights and engine, Starsky and the same blond from the previous night walked out and to the Torino. Hutch’s first thought was to call out, let Starsky know he was there, but instinct, coupled with Starsky’s recent attitude, made him hesitate. Instead, he waited until they were in the car and moving through traffic before following. They hadn’t gone far when the Torino moved out of the stream of cars and stopped in front of a nice apartment building. The two men got out of the familiar red-and-white car and entered the building. Hutch watched the front until a light went on in a third floor window. The blond pulled the shade but was still silhouetted by the light. Starsky joined him, and Hutch didn’t need to be in the room to feel the heat of the kiss. A flicker of fire in his gut brought with it a haunting memory from thirty years ago. He pushed it firmly back into its place in his subconscious and concentrated on the window. His own groin tightened as Starsky reached to unbutton the other’s shirt and slip it off before pulling him into another embrace. Hutch didn’t want to watch but couldn’t take his eyes off the window and was grateful when the two men moved out of sight.
An hour later Starsky emerged smiling contentedly, his hair temptingly disheveled.
Hutch followed the Torino as it wound lazily through the streets and finally stopped at Starsky’s apartment. What’s up, Starsky? What’s happening to you…to us? What’re you going to say to me? What am I going to say to you? Starsky would be…no, he’d act angry because, when afraid, Starsky got angry. Starsky attacked.
Hutch waited until the light went on, then climbed the stairs and knocked.
“Who is it?”
Who do you want it to be? “Hutch.”
The door opened to a Starsky, all smiles. “Hey, Hutch, c’mon in. We finally connected, huh?”
“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.” Now why the hell did you have to say that?
“Why would I do that?”
“You tell me.”
“Want a beer?”
No. “Sure.”
Hutch caught the can tossed at him and waited for his partner to talk. But Starsky sat silently on the couch, beer held lightly between his palms, head down.
“What happened Sunday, Starsk? You said you had something important to tell me, then after dinner, you split.”
“You asked me for dinner, then invited one of your ladies to join us.”
“That wasn’t planned and you know it. Besides, you didn’t seem to object.”
“What else could I say? Lucinda was there a lot for me when you couldn’t be. I owed her.”
Hutch felt anger building; held his breath trying to control it, hoping Starsky would continue without further prompting.
“I wanted to talk to you,” Starsky whispered.
“You didn’t tell me that.” Unless you remember that he told you he had something important to tell you.
“I told you I had something important to tell you. Aw, what’s the use? I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks, but you never seem to have the time,” Starsky looked up then, a half-smile pasted to his lips, “Why don’t we just drop it, huh?”
“I followed you tonight,” Hutch moved to sit in the rattan chair, “from Felipe’s to the Emory Arms to here.”
Starsky’s whole body stiffened and the face he turned to Hutch was a closed mask, “So I had dinner with a guy I met at work, so what?”
“And just stopped by his place to kiss him good night and tuck him in?” He drained his beer and crumpled the can before walking to the kitchen and tossing it in the trash. Without turning, he finished his comment, “I saw the two of you in the window.”
“What the hell were you doing following me?” Starsky’s voice was icicles.
“I saw the Torino, thought since you’d gotten off earlier than you expected, we could still get together. I figured, if you were with a lady, I’d back off.”
“But since I was with a man, you decided to tag along. What were you going to do, protect my virtue?”
Hutch stood then and looked at his partner, “It was a dumb move, you’re right. Why’d I do it?” He shrugged. He didn’t know why he’d tailed Starsky anymore than he knew why he was angry…why he felt, somehow, exposed, “I guess I was curious,” he said lamely.
“Curiosity killed the cat, Hutch,” Starsky brushed past him to get another beer, “And you won’t like the end any better than you liked the beginning, so, like I said before, drop it.”
“I can’t.”
“Well, I can! It’s my life and you can butt out,” He emphasized his meaning with vicious finger jabs to Hutch’s chest.
Hutch’s checked anger exploded, “What the hell were you doing up there?”
Starsky’s mouth opened and closed silently several times as he stared at Hutch, eyes wide, “You’re the detective, you figure it out.”
Hutch remained quiet, refusing to be baited again. He was confused; the emotion he was experiencing felt more like jealousy than anger.
“Aw, right, you want it in words of one syllable? I was getting screwed through the mattress by an expert.”
The admission was what Hutch had known it would be, but still, it hit him like a sledge hammer. He was hot and his skin cold…his supper congealed into a sickly blob at the pit of his stomach. Even though he was prepared for it, the statement left him speechless. Why? After years of jockeying for the same woman, different women, sometimes even sharing the same woman…do you suddenly like men? No, not men…man, one very tall, very blond man…and the answer flared bright. Starsky brushed past. “How do you feel about me?”
He whispered the words almost wishing he hadn’t said them aloud at all. But Starsky wasn’t there to hear and the bathroom door was firmly closed. Using the small amount of clutter as an excuse to linger, Hutch busied himself straightening the apartment, prepared to wait all night if necessary.
Twenty minutes later, Starsky came out of the bathroom toweling his hair dry. Hutch watched him finish, then drop the towel into a basket near the bathroom door; saw surprise fill his face before he snatched the towel back and placed it firmly around his waist.
“You still here? Thought you’d be long gone by now.”
“How do you feel about me?” Hutch repeated his earlier question and watched Starsky’s sullen façade crumble.
His face went soft and he moved close, cupping Hutch’s face with his left hand, “You’re what this is all about, you jerk, I love you. I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks.”
“This isn’t something new.” Quiet statement of fact.
“No. I’ve loved you for a long time. Just recently I’ve had a…need, I guess you’d call it, to tell you.”
Hutch inhaled Starsky’s scent and realized he’d been holding his breath. He’d heard what he feared he’d hear.
“I want to make love to you. Funny, isn’t it? All these years of touchin’ and holdin’ and it’s always been enough until now,” Starsky commented, then moved away.
“Why the other guy, Starsk?”
“To take your place, so it could stay like it was. So I could love you and maybe, not want you. But it’s not working and it’s not fair to him.”
“Now that I do know, what do you want from me?” Restless, not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Hutch moved a few steps but stopped when he neared the divider, he stood there, absently playing with the leaves on the plant that lived there.
Starsky turned him roughly so that they stood face to face, “What do you want?” Starsky looked at him, stared into him, through him.
“To go on like always. We don’t need…”
“Maybe you don’t, but I do. I’ve always been able to control this physical desire for you. But you changed all that. You…”
Hutch could feel the old panic starting, could almost hear the footsteps on the stairs and resolutely pushed the half-formed memory back again, “Me? What did I do? I’ve never given you reason to believe I love you in any other way than a brother.”
“Haven’t you? Oh God, Hutch, when you crawled into bed with me at the hospital, I thought I’d die right there. If that tray of food hadn’t been sitting on my lap, everyone would’ve known what I was thinkin’.”
The panic was back and this time it was taking over his mind. It’s up to you, what you want to be…a man…or…one of them. The voice echoed from a lifetime ago and he struggled to free himself from it and Starsky. Slowly he started backing away, hands held out in front, “Starsk, I can’t. I do love you, but…but not like that. I…”
“It’s okay, Hutch. Go on, I’ll work something out.” The last view Hutch had, as he backed out the door, was the sad little smile on his best friend’s face.
Down the steps and out the door. He nearly ran to the car; didn’t slow until he sat inside, doors locked. Safe from the demon. Starsky wasn’t his enemy, hadn’t ever been. But the demon had him and right now he could only sit in the car waiting for the trembling to stop, then home to bed when there was no place else to go. World War III could have erupted all around him, but Hutch wouldn’t have noticed during the drive home. His mind was carefully blank. Wearily, he undressed, leaving his clothes where they fell and stood looking at himself in the mirror. What Starsky saw, he couldn’t imagine. Others along the way of his life had let him know they were interested, men and women alike, but this was the first time he’d been approached by someone who really mattered. No revelations forthcoming from the image staring back at him, Hutch went to bed. A full night of restless battle with the sheets hadn’t solved anything by the time the alarm sounded.
The first thing he saw when he entered the squad room was a beaming Johnson. What now? Pollyanna, I don’t need. “What happy pill did you swallow?”
“Grumble all you want, nothing’s going to depress me today. Last night, Joanna said she’d marry me.”
Starsky proposed to me last night, too. How about a double wedding? Except, I said no. Hutch summoned the needed cheer, “Great! I hope the two of you will be very happy.”
“No doubt about it. I want you to be my best man.” Johnson literally beamed. The grin on his face went from ear to ear and looked permanent.
“Hutch, in my office,” Dobey called, postponing his answer.
Leaving Johnson happily shifting through the files and accomplishing nothing, Hutch joined Dobey in his office, closing the door before sitting on one of the chairs in front of the captain’s desk. “Captain?”
The captain’s face looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Starsky stopped in this morning…”
Goldfish started doing flips inside Hutch. The skin on the tops of his hands tingled with electric jolts that crawled up his numbed arms.
“District Attorney Davis offered him a permanent position on his investigation staff.”
“He’ll have to take the lieutenant’s exam,” Hutch managed.
“He’s been taking classes ever since he got out of the hospital and the position won’t be officially vacant until Lewis retires, but he’s on extended sick leave. Starsky has plenty of time to earn a degree, then take the exam.”
Alarms went off in Hutch’s head, but he couldn’t force himself to move or speak. He knew without asking what Starsky’s solution had been as well as what Dobey’s next words would be.
“He’s decided to take the position. It’s quite a feather…”
Hutch stood, almost knocking over his chair, and woodenly left the room. Of course it could be a case of a chance too good to pass up, but he knew better. Starsky was jumping at this position as a perfect way to bow out of Hutch’s life. He brushed by Johnson and snatched the receiver up, viciously punched the numbers, “Sergeant Starsky… Whatta ya’ mean, he’s not available? Tell him Sergeant Hutchinson is calling…I see…uh, no, no message. Thank you.”
“Did Captain Dobey tell you? I’ve been permanently assigned to Metro. We’re officially partners, now. Starsky’s got…” Again the ear-to-ear grin. Hutch wasn’t sure he could cope with all this enthusiasm today.
“Don’t mention that name to me again, not if you want to stay my partner.” Not this way, Starsk. It hurts too much. I don’t want Johnson for a partner, I want you. We’ll find another way. I know we can, if we just look for it.
The rest of the day was spent at the computer and on the streets checking out everyone connected with L&M Escort Service. By the close of the shift, they’d traced ownership to Gunther Industries, a fact they already knew, but they still didn’t have a name to question.
They were walking to their cars and off duty for the weekend, when Johnson asked, “Hey, Hutch, how about joining Joanna and me for dinner, tonight?”
“Mind if I take a rain-check? I’d like to find out what’s going on with Starsky.”
Johnson looked disappointed, but Hutch didn’t relent and the younger man finally spoke, “Yeah, sure, okay. Maybe Saturday, we’re having a barbecue.”
“Saturday’s fine, around three?”
“We’ll see you at three…uh, Hutch, you’re welcome anytime… Starsky, too, you know that?”
“Yeah, Ray, I know that, thanks. See you tomorrow.” Why would he mention Starsky like that? Easy Hutchinson, he’s only being friendly. He went straight from Metro to Starsky’s apartment, but the Torino wasn’t there and was still missing an hour later when Hutch gave up and went to the Pits.
Straddling a barstool, Hutch ordered a beer, then looked around the crowd for Huggy and, maybe if he was lucky, Starsky. He didn’t find his partner, but Huggy brought his beer. The usually flamboyantly-dressed man surprised Hutch by wearing a conservative dark grey pinstripe suit, complete with vest. The Pits was crowded, noisy, and full of smoke as customary, so the attire threw Hutch for several moments as Huggy strutted his finery, obviously waiting for comment. “Hi, Hug, how’s it going?”
“The joint, as they say, is jumpin’. Good thing, too, ’cause there’s supposed to be coupla high class brothers from New Orleans, lookin’ to take up partnership in a jazzy club. Ya’ know what I mean?”
“You don’t even have a band, let alone a New Orleans jazz group.” Hutch had to smile at this latest example of street-side enterprise. Huggy and Starsky, both always looking for the fast buck, the big break, he shook his head in wonder.
Now Huggy looked hurt, “I’ve got Jasper and his boys.”
“I’d forgotten about them,” Hutch suppressed his smile with difficulty, “Have you seen…”
“Don’t ask me ’bout Starsky. He ain’t here and I’ve been told not to tell you when I do see him.” The dark eyes were unreadable.
“What?” He could feel his temper getting the better of him.
“He said he needed some space and that you weren’t likely to give it to him, so he asked for my help, called in some old favors. What happened?” Now Huggy looked wary. It was obvious he didn’t like being in the middle. His feet did a little shuffle step and his fingers flexed slightly. He looked around the bar, as if looking for an excuse to leave before he had to duck.
Huggy seemed genuinely concerned and Hutch’s budding anger died, “I asked him about the blond.”
“Oh.” No more curiosity, Huggy knew what had taken place and it made Hutch acutely uncomfortable.
“I’ve got to talk to him. There must be some way to work things out.”
“Give him some time, Hutch. He wants space, give him some space, Starsky won’t let you down.”
Huggy moved off and left Hutch alone with his thoughts.
Starsky’s gay…well, at least he likes men, but he’s always liked the ladies, too.
“Helen and I even talked about having kids, you know?”
Helen and Starsky had broken up, and at the time, Hutch had wondered why, but he hadn’t asked and when Starsky hadn’t volunteered the reasons, he hadn’t wanted to pry.
“Starsk, it’s no big thing.”
“Hey, you’re not that sophisticated. I mean, a man preferring a man is not as casual as someone having a bad cold.”
“Is that right?”
“Yeah. I’m not taking a position for or against it, but it’s something to contend with. I mean, it’s not your usual everyday thing.”
And all along, you wanted me that way. I thought you were upset about John Blaine being gay, but that wasn’t it at all, was it? You were feeling me out, trying to test my reaction. And I blew it.
Hutch left Huggy’s and once more, drove out to Starsky’s; still no Torino. He’s avoiding me. Told Huggy not to help, well, I’m not a detective for nothing. With that thought, Hutch went home to bed. In the morning he’d find Starsky and they’d straighten this whole mess out. Starsky was a little confused was all. Grateful to be back on duty, even limited duty…glad to be alive. A shower, then a shave and he was in bed, but unable to sleep. He tossed and turned and when he did finally manage to drift off, he dreamt.
Footsteps softly making their way up the stairs, down the hall. Hands coming out of the wall…holding him…undressing him…touching him. The door opening and a long shadow slithering across the room and across his bed.
Hutch bolted upright, breathing hard, palms sweaty, heart racing. No, not the dreams. Mom got rid of them a long time ago. But Father said this would happen, said I’d end up like them if I didn’t stop Fred. All right, ALL RIGHT! I’m a grown man, now. I know who I am.
Going into the bathroom, he washed his face with cool water, took a swallow of the same water, then returned to bed and was finally able to sleep.
The ringing phone woke him and he felt like he hadn’t slept in a week. A quick glance at the clock told him it was noon and he’d slept through the alarm. He grabbed the receiver, almost knocking it off the night-stand, “Hello.”
“Hi, Hutch, it’s Kathy. I just got in. Are you free for dinner or something?”
“Yeah, sure. How about a barbecue?”
“Great!”
“Pick you up in an hour.”
What the hell, he thought. If Starsky doesn’t want to be found, I won’t find him. He’s probably out with Mr. Wonderful. His resentment was surprising and he began reconsidering his own feelings. How did he feel about Starsky? True, he was like a brother. Just a brother? Another, smaller voice mocked him; so Hutch, as if to prove the point, forced all thoughts of Starsky out of his consciousness and concentrated on Kathy as he maneuvered through traffic.
Tall, thin Kathy with the long, blonde hair, which waved and lay softly on her shoulders…not tight dark curls.
She was waiting on the sidewalk outside her apartment when he pulled the car over. Dressed in jeans, red plaid shirt and cowboy boots, she looked more ready for a Texas round-up than a California barbecue, but she was beautiful to Hutch just the same.
“Hi ya, Hutch. How’ve you been? How’s Dave?”
“I’m fine. I guess he is, too. We don’t see each other too often lately.” He hurt at the admission.
She climbed in and slid over next to where he sat. “It’s only been a week, but I missed you.” She was all smiles and sunshine and his spirits lifted.
He slipped an arm around her shoulders; she was the right medicine to cure his confusion. Specters of Starsky drifted away as her perfume filled his senses.
“My partner and his fiancée, Joanna, are having a barbecue at her place. That’s where we’re going.” He explained as they drove away.
“Starsky’s getting married?” Her eyes widened in surprise.
Yes, to a blond beach bum who’ll treat him… Stop it, Hutchinson! “My new partner, Ray Johnson. Starsky’s transferred to the D.A.’s office permanently.”
“Oh, sorry. Somehow, I never expected to hear you call anyone else partner. Does this mean you and Dave aren’t getting back together?” A slight frown knit her brows.
Hutch couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped him, “I don’t know, honey, I just don’t know.” He tried to shake the feeling of loss that permeated him, but was patently unsuccessful. His mood lasted even after they reached Joanna’s. Ray, aware of his feelings, had evidently warned Joanna and Kathy because no one mentioned Starsky by name the whole afternoon.
The house was in an old, but well kept neighborhood. It had belonged to Joanna’s parents and, since their deaths, she’d continued to live there. The backyard, where they sat was nice sized and quiet. With Ray at the grill and the rest of them sitting around the picnic table, it looked like a scene out of California Living. Johnson carefully steered the conversation away from police work and the streets seemed a million miles away.
If he’d been able to relax, Hutch could have enjoyed the quiet, but every minute he expected Starsky to bounce into the picture with some lunatic scheme or absurd piece of trivia to liven up the party. This was the way he’d grown up thinking life should be, he’d never been comfortable with the concept and his life had taken a different path when, eight years ago fate had partnered him with the totally unpredictable blue-eyed, curly-haired imp.
“Ken?” Fingers firm on his arm. “Ken…”
“Uh, Kathy, sorry.” He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “Sorry, my attention wandered. What did you say?”
“Do you want some dessert?”
He looked down at his plate, almost empty and he didn’t remember eating any of it. “No, thanks,” Hutch stood, “I haven’t been the best company. Joanna, it really was nice meeting you. Sorry to eat and run. Ray, I’ll see you on Monday.”
Johnson stood, taking Hutch’s plate from Kathy. “Glad you could make it, anyway.”
“We’ll have to do it again sometime,” Joanna smiled as she walked with them toward the door.
Hutch moved to the car and opened the door for Kathy. As he started around the back of the car, Ray touched his shoulder. “If there’s anything I can do, just call.”
“Yeah, thanks, see you Monday,” And then, because he knew Johnson would appreciate the gesture, “partner.” He was gratified at the younger man’s beaming smile.
He dropped Kathy off, then started for home, but instead found himself driving towards Starsky’s. All right, I’ll go to Starsky’s for all the good that’ll do me. But, for a change, the Torino was in its usual spot and lights were on in the apartment. Hutch’s feet were leaden on the steps. He feared the coming confrontation, had it really come to that? He knew he’d find no peace until he talked to his best friend.
There was no answer when he knocked, so he repeated the ritual, harder. “Starsky, open up, I know you’re home.”
“Go away, Hutchinson. I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
That’s right, Starsk, when you’re scared, attack, but why are you so afraid of me? The show of stubbornness on Starsky’s part angered him, and he yelled, “Open this door or I’ll kick it in! I swear, Starsky, I’m not leaving here until I’ve seen you.”
The lock clicked but the door didn’t open. Hutch pushed and it swung inward. Starsky stood looking out the window, one hand on the nearby wall, the other resting limply on the sill. His shoulders drooped, his head hung down.
“We gotta talk.” His fury disappeared at the sight of Starsky’s misery.
“So talk.”
“Why did you break us up? We were a hell of a team, you never even gave me a chance to see if we could still work together.”
Slowly, Starsky turned to face him. The honesty in the blue eyes was hypnotic, “I can’t do it. I’ve lied to myself long enough. I kept tellin’ myself that if I waited long enough, you’d start to love me like I love you. But that ain’t gonna happen, is it? I can’t wait anymore, it hurts too much. It ain’t lust, Hutch…hell, I can control that. Done it for eight years. So, after Gunther’s hit, I decided it was time to put my cards on the table and you turned me down. You’re allowed, but I can’t be around you anymore and not hope.” He turned away again.
Hutch knew Starsky was being totally honest, and he could see his point, almost. God, there had to be a solution if they looked hard enough. He walked over and put a hand on Starsky’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
Before he had a chance to say anything, Starsky suddenly turned and pulled him into his arms; his mouth on Hutch’s. “…and you aren’t even a good kisser.”, echoed dimly in Hutch’s mind. He knew just how wrong he’d been. Starsky was a good kisser…a very good kisser, using not only his mouth, but his whole body. Hutch responded, but as he moved his arms to return the embrace he was roughly shoved away. A sob escaped Starsky and he turned his back again.
“Go away, Hutch. Leave now and don’t come back.”
Starsky’s voice was so husky that Hutch had to acknowledge the truth of what Starsky’d been telling him all along. Could he make the commitment his friend wanted? All he could do was stand and look at his partner’s back, taking comfort in his presence. Then, that security, too, was shattered as old memories returned full force. “You’re like Fred. I knew you were. You’re no son of mine.”
Hutch fled. Confused and shaken, he sat in his car for hours, praying Starsky would open the door and make their world right again. But Starsky didn’t and, finally admitting defeat, he drove home.
~~~
Later, unable to sleep, Hutch put on a record of soft music, opened a beer and flopped onto the couch. What was he going to do? What could he do but face facts? His mind taunted him. Facts? Oh, there were facts, weren’t there? One: Starsky was his best friend. Was certainly was correct, now wasn’t it? No! Dammit, he knew Starsky still loved him…that was his whole problem. David Michael Starsky loved him for what he was…not for who he wanted Hutch to be, but for who he was right now. He took a long swallow of beer, forcing himself to face another truth. He loved Starsky, but not enough to have a physical…sexual…relationship. Not with him or any other man. He got up to turn the record over, then came back to lie, face down on the couch. He wasn’t really thinking about sex with another man; it just made it easier to deny Starsky’s attraction.
Irritated, he flung himself off the couch and into the kitchen to throw away the beer can. Restless, he wandered into the bedroom where he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it into the laundry. Next he went into the bathroom to rinse his face with cold water, finally pulling on his robe over his jeans. He returned to the couch to face himself. All right, he loved Starsky. That was easy enough to admit. Only… No, there was no only about it; Starsky’s kiss had been… comfortable? Was that all? No, it had been like coming home…a haven where he felt safe. He’d responded to the warmth, the sweetness of it. He remembered the heat spreading through him, the tightness in his crotch. God! Did he actually want a sexual relationship with his partner? No! He wasn’t like that…wasn’t like Fred.
Neither was Starsky. Fred had used Hutch for his own gain and it still hurt… emotionally and physically. What Fred did, and was, had absolutely nothing to do with him and Starsky.
Hutch knew the truth of that. Other memories connected with that time surfaced. He remembered his mother telling him that Fred was sick, that what he had done had nothing to do with love. She had never questioned Hutch’s own sexuality. The tension between him and Starsky was caused by love and the physical aspect of that love. He recognized the true depth of his feelings for Starsky and knew he wanted to give the commitment Starsky needed. Why should the actions and fears of thirty years ago come between him and the man who already cared more for him than anyone he’d ever known? For the first time in his life, the knots left and the demon that had plagued him for so long, vanished. He’d have to explain it all to Starsky but, at least now, he knew he could. He reached for the phone just as it rang.
“Just heard from Huggy. He said for you and Johnson to meet him at the Pits in the morning. He’ll have someone there to talk to you about your hooker murders.”
“Great! Hey, Starsk…” But the receiver clicked and the dial tone buzzed. All the time he was pulling on his shirt, one thought rang loud and clear…even though they weren’t together, Starsky was still with him.
When he got to Starsky’s apartment, however, the Torino was missing and the windows were dark. Feeling a sudden, deep-seated fear, he dug in his pocket for his key to unlock the door and entered the quiet, empty rooms. A quick search revealed that Starsky’s duffle bag was missing as well as clothing and shaving articles. Suddenly Hutch felt very old. All he could do was go home. He left a short note prominently placed on the refrigerator.
“Call me, Starsky. I love you. Maybe we can work things out, after all. Love, Hutch.”
Deep inside was a growing anguish that Starsky would never see that note.
“Meet Huggy at the Pits.” Okay, I’ll do that. I’ll close this case, then I’ll find you, Starsky.
The next morning Hutch picked up Johnson at Metro, then headed to the Pits and their meeting with Huggy. The thin man wasn’t alone. A tiny mulatto girl with blonde ringlets cascading down her back, stood nervously at his side.
“This here is Denise. She used to work for L&M Escort. A friend sent her to me for help. Denise, this is Hutch. You can answer his questions.” Huggy moved toward the kitchen and Hutch guided the girl to a table. All three sat.
“How long did you work for L&M Escort?”
“Just…just a coupla weeks.” Her voice was little more than a sigh.
“Did you know either of these girls?” Hutch held out the coroner’s photo’s.
Denise looked at the pictures, then, shuddering, buried her face in her hands.
“Denise, I’m sorry, but we need your help.” Hutch said gently. “Do you know either of these girls?”
“Uh-huh, Candi. She sent me away when that man arrived.” Her dark brown eyes swam with tears.
“What man?” Johnson asked, pen and notebook open.
“Bruce.”
“Does he have a last name?”
“I never heard it. He used to protect us, and drive us to and from our clients. We called him Bruce.” She shrugged, pulling at her blouse.
“Would you come to the police station to look at some pictures to see if you can find Bruce?”
“You mean mug shots? Like on TV?” Denise was so wide-eyed and excited that Hutch almost smiled.
“How old are you, Denise?” He asked.
“Eighteen…” Hutch raised his eyebrows and just looked at her. “Fourteen,” Denise mumbled.
“Can you go home?”
“My dad’ll probably kill me, but, yeah, I’d like to go home.”
Hutch and Johnson took Denise to Metro and left her with a Juvenile officer to help her with the mug books. She chattered away, her terror forgotten.
“Ray, go down to R&I. See if the name Bruce can be connected with James Gunther in any way. You know what to look for.”
“Gotcha. Where will you be?”
“Right here. I’m going to give Starsky a call. See if he’s run across anyone by that name.”
But Starsky wasn’t at his desk and Hutch was informed that Sergeant Starsky had taken emergency leave for personal reasons, and they didn’t know when he’d be back. Dobey wasn’t in his office, so Hutch called the Pits.
“Huggy, this is Hutch. Where’s…?”
“Don’t ask me ’bout Starsky. I don’t know nothing.” Huggy sounded agitated, his voice sharp with distress.
“More old debts, Hug?” Hutch felt the cold return; he’d get no help from the only person who could have helped.
“Somethin’ like that.”
Wel1, if you do hear from Starsky, tell him I’ve changed my mind.”
Hutch replaced the receiver and picked up the current case file. He’d almost finished entering the details of their meeting with Denise, when he was interrupted by a uniformed officer.
“Sergeant Hutchinson?”
“Carter?” There was something about the cop’s demeanor that alerted him.
“The desk sergeant sent me up. Said to tell you that Captain Dobey wants you to meet him at the Security Pacific Bank on Wilshire.” The young man started to leave.
“Why? Did he say what for?” He was already closing the file, shoving it away.
“Hostage situation. SWAT’s already on the scene, but Captain Dobey specifically asked for you and Detective Johnson.”
Hutch stood, grabbed his jacket. “Call Johnson in R&I, tell him to meet me at the car.”
En route to the scene, Hutch filled Johnson in on what little he knew. When they arrived, the front of the bank looked like the command post for the Sixth Army. He could see Dobey’s bulk in the middle of it all and made straight for him.
“What’s going down, Captain?”
Dobey jerked around, “Hutch, thank God! One hold-up man, Jimmy Preston. Remember him?”
Hutch thought for several moments, then placed the name, “Yeah, he and Starsky share a mutual hate pact, but that was six years ago. Starsky put him away.”
“Right. Well, he was just released on parole. One guard dead…one hostage…” Dobey paused, a strange look Hutch couldn’t identify crossed his face, “…Starsky.”
“Starsky!” Oh, shit, buddy, what’ve you gotten yourself into? Fear pressed in on him from all sides. Why now? Dobey was talking and he forced himself to listen.
“He persuaded Preston to release the bank employees and other customers. He promised to stay with Preston all the way, if he freed them.”
Hutch’s mind stalled. Words and voices became jumbled. He looked around him at the ordered chaos that resulted from response to a hostage situation. SWAT team members stood in their strictly functional uniforms; he could see them on the roof of Callendar’s next door, and on either side of the bank entrance, but no closer than the street. Stern men intent on their prey. The sun-screened darkened doors and windows of the bank made it impossible to see inside; flashing red and blue reflected back to the black and whites that lined the curb. Uniformed officers crouched behind every vehicle and a huddle of uniformed and suited brass surrounded Dobey. 10-13, officer in need of assistance, had been broadcast and the whole world telescoped down to a single building on a dirty street. Starsky was in the middle.
“Hutch!”
He snapped back into focus, gears finally grinding in his fogged brain. “You were saying? I didn’t catch…”
“I said, what are the chances that Preston will recognize Starsky?”
“About fifty-fifty, if Starsky’s gained twenty pounds and grown a beard.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t have shaved.”
Not shaved? Come to think of it, his beard had looked a little heavy last night. Was it only last night? Eyeing Dobey suspiciously, he demanded, “Why wouldn’t he have shaved? Is he undercover? I was told that he’d taken emergency leave for personal reasons.” He found his patience wearing thin. Everyone seemed in on Starsky’s secret…except him. He was being shut out on all sides.
“He’s on a forced personal leave that may end in suspension if he can’t get his act together.” A new voice entered the conversation, and Hutch turned to see District Attorney Davis approaching.
What the hell was he doing on the crime scene? He knew of course. Election year, right. “Why suspension? Starsky’s never done anything to warrant suspension.” He glared at Davis. Hutch ignored Dobey’s snort and focused on the dapper man in front of him. Davis had a reputation for show-boating, but his conviction record was good. He didn’t like the man, personally, but he was Starsky’s new boss so his presence was marginally acceptable.
Davis turned on Hutch, face so red that it looked like he’d knotted his tie too tight. “He’s been under some sort of stress this past week that has increasingly interfered with his work performance. This morning, he showed up unshaved, wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday, and smelling like a brewery. He wasn’t drunk, but I think he’d drunk himself to sleep last night and slept in his clothes. Since this is new behavior, I gave him some time off to get himself together.” Dismissing Hutch, he turned to Captain Dobey. “What’s the situation, Captain? What can I do to help?”
“You can help by going back to your spit-and-polish office and let us handle this,” Hutch answered, fists clenched. Johnson hovered just behind him, hands almost on his partner’s upper arms.
“That’ll be enough, Hutch!”
“Hey, Captain Dobey…”
The familiar voice started butterflies in Hutch’s stomach. He hadn’t talked to Starsky since last night, but the response to the voice confirmed his decision. Still, he determinedly pushed all personal thoughts away to concentrate on the problem in front of them.
SWAT sharpshooters tensed and crouched lower, fingers tightening ever so gently on their triggers.
Oh God, that’s Starsky! Don’t shoot him, please.
“Are you all right, Starsky?” Dobey’s voice, sounding tinny through the bull horn, carried over the hubbub.
“Yeah. Preston wants sandwiches and coffee. You have fifteen minutes to get ’em, then I’ll meet an officer and give you his demands.”
Pulling a twenty out of his wallet, Hutch turned to Johnson. “Go next door to Callendar’s and get the food. Put lots of cream and sugar in one of the coffee’s,” Johnson took the money and started off. “Oh, and get a Danish, too.”
Johnson hurried away and Hutch turned back to Starsky. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the man. Unshaven, needing a haircut, he still looked like a second chance to Hutch.
“Anything else?” Dobey continued, shifting around to stare at various snipers.
“No weapons. Preston wants to see an empty holster.” He stood quietly, hands held at his sides, unnaturally still, his face, even with its shadow, very pale.
“All right, see you in fifteen minutes.” Dobey set down the horn and wiped his forehead, expression grim.
“Ten minutes and counting,” Starsky stated the obvious before turning back into the building.
“Whatever we do, we’ve got to be careful. Preston’s edgy and he’s watching every move.” Hutch felt a knot constricting his gut. Preston would never release Starsky.
“How do you know all that?” Johnson returned from the restaurant, carrying two bags.
“ESP,” Dobey muttered.
“Huh?” Johnson looked from Dobey to Hutch, obviously bewildered.
“I’m going, Cap.” Actions coldly deliberate, Hutch made a show of taking off his jacket and laying his Magnum on the hood of the squad car that was their shield.
“Flak vest,” Dobey voiced.
“No way. Preston’ll think I’m trying to hide something.
“Then you be damn careful! See if you can get inside, see what Starsky can tell you. Look…”
“I know, sir.” Hutch’s voice was gentle. He nodded at the two men.
“Be careful, Hutch, we’ll get him out of this.” Johnson laid a hand on Hutch’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Cover me.” Unnecessary, but it was what he would’ve said to Starsky.
Hutch started towards the bank, bags of food and coffee held carefully away from his body in his right hand. Left hand held out so the empty holster was readily visible. He schooled his face sternly to keep a businesslike composure when all he wanted to do was grab Starsky and run. The short walk to mid-way between the curb and the bank doors seemed to drag out forever. The closer he got, the worse and the better Starsky looked. Eyes sunken, surrounded by dark circles, day-old beard, clothes rumpled and loose, but to Hutch, he was a miracle standing there.
“Give up shaving, partner?”
“Fuck it.”
Well, that about sums up his mood. Starsky’s words were angry but his eyes were bleak. Hutch looked closely at him, but read nothing. “What’s your plan?”
“To get outta here alive.”
“How many weapons does Preston have?”
“He has a thirty-eight and my automatic, full clip. I told Preston I’d go with him if he let the other hostages go.”
What an idiotic thing to do. Anger flared and, for a moment, Hutch was speechless, “That’s Jimmy Preston, you ass! He’ll kill you the first chance he gets.”
“There were kids in there, Hutch. What did ya’ want me ta’ do?” The deep voice wavered.
Damn. “What are Preston’s demands?”
“He has two duffle bags full of money from the vault. He wants a car and an escort to the airport where he wants a plane and pilot waiting. I don’t know where he plans to go.”
Silently, Hutch handed over the food and took the note from Starsky. He glanced at it but the demands were all that were written on it in Starsky’s familiar scrawl. Electricity seemed to arc from Starsky’s fingers to his own and Hutch had an insane impulse to grab his partner and run. Where, he didn’t know. He could feel the tension building like the weather before the storm. An explosion was coming and Starsky was in the way.
Without another word, Starsky turned and re-entered the bank. Hutch watched him until the door closed, then turned and retraced his steps. His stomach was churning and head pounding by the time he reached the phalanx of squad cars. He handed the note to Dobey and turned back to the bank, shutting off all stimuli surrounding him. The only thing he was conscious of was the closed bank door. He was certain the Mayor would never agree to the demands and he knew Preston was psycho enough to kill Starsky if Dobey even tried to bargain.
Dobey tapped him on the shoulder, and, startled, he turned abruptly. “Do I have to tell you the Mayor’s stand on this? ‘Better to lose a cop than a private citizen. The man will get a commendation for his actions today.’ I tried, Hutch.”
Johnson handed Hutch his Magnum and he shoved it hard into his holster before looking around in desperation. “We’ve still got thirty minutes to think of something. There has to be a way to…”
Dobey nodded. “You’re right, Lieutenant Lincoln…”
The SWAT commander joined them.
“Is there anyway one of your men could get a shot at Preston?”
“Sharpshooters are in position, sir, but with that tinted glass; they can’t get a good view of the target.”
“What about the back entrance or the roof?” Hutch knew he was grasping at straws, but there had to be something someone could do.
“No roof access, the back is all vault and storage rooms. Desks are in front of the teller’s cages, and the employees’ entrance was blocked off by Preston, according to the bank manager.”
“Drive-in window?”
”Isn’t one.
“Shit.” Hutch was out of ideas. He peered across the street, the distance seemed endless.
“What’s your answer, pig?” Preston’s watch was fast, or he’d jumped the gun. They could barely make out a form just inside the door.
“Lincoln?” Dobey questioned the SWAT man.
“No, sir. Still unable to get a clean shot, can’t tell if we’re seeing one man or two. We might shoot Sergeant Starsky by mistake.”
Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that. Hutch shuddered at the idea.
Dobey turned back to the bank. “We’re working on your demands. It takes time to free a route to the airport and locate a plane and pilot.”
The nebulous form moved toward the inside of the bank, and Hutch started running. He knew exactly what Preston intended and it scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t see the hold-up man clearly, but he heard the shot and saw another figure fall. He hit the doors running and was through, Magnum in hand. He barely stopped to aim before firing. Hearing two echoes, he glanced over his shoulder to see Dobey lower his thirty-eight, and one of the sharpshooters looking up from his rifle. They must’ve been behind him all the time, but their footsteps hadn’t registered, and Hutch doubted that he’d even heard them. The whole thing had taken less than a minute. He picked up Preston’s gun and felt quickly for a pulse, not surprised when there was none. He raced to Starsky who lay crumpled between two desks. Blood trickled from a wound on the side of his head. Hutch couldn’t see the extent of the injury because of the thick curls, but the blood on the rug sent cold shivers through him.
“Officer down! Get an ambulance!” He yelled as men poured through the doors.
“One’s on the way,” Dobey answered quietly. “How is he?” The captain laid a hand on Hutch’s shoulder.
“Alive, but…” Hutch’s voice trailed off as he searched for a pulse, shoulders sagging with relief when he found one. He glanced up a Dobey, “He has a pulse, weak, but it’s there.” He turned back to Starsky, “Wake-up, Starsk. C’mon, buddy, wake-up…” He drew the unconscious figure to him.
Starsky hadn’t regained consciousness by the time the ambulance arrived, and Hutch had to relinquish the precious body in his arms to the paramedics.
Lights and siren-matching that on the emergency medical vehicle, he followed it to Memorial Hospital just as he had the day of Gunther’s attempt on Starsky’s life. Why does everyone always want to shoot you? But he knew the answer. His grandmother had had a bantam rooster on the farm when he was a kid and that rooster would go at his ankles every time he entered the hen-house. Starsky was like that bantam.
“Sergeant Hutchinson?”
Looking up, he saw a nurse standing in front of him, he hadn’t heard her approach, “My partner?”
“He’s going to be all right. The bullet just grazed his scalp, taking out some skin and hair, but his skull’s intact. We sewed him up. The doctor suspects a concussion, but you can see him. He’s in Room 112.”
Hutch almost ran down the hall, not certain what he would say but knowing he had to see him. He stopped outside the room to slow his breathing. He wouldn’t be lying there if we were still partners and we would still be partners if I’d been able to tell him that I loved him. No! Hutch knew that was faulty thinking. It was true that he hadn’t been able to tell him that he loved him, earlier. He’d panicked at the thought of Starsky touching him intimately. But that wasn’t what had put Starsky in the hospital. Fate; dumb, fickle fate alone had been responsible for today’s terror. He still wasn’t absolutely sure he could give him what he wanted now, he was only sure that he wanted to try. He remembered the scene in the window and with it came another memory, older, more sinister and this time he didn’t put it away. It insisted on playing itself out in his mind; no less painful for all the time that had passed.
“You wanted to talk to me, Kenneth?”
“Yes, Father.” His father was so imposing, sitting behind the huge desk, blue eyes almost as cold as the ice they resembled, that the younger Hutch wanted to retreat without another word. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, he continued, “May I come to live with you instead of Mother and Fred?”
“Now, Kenneth, we discussed this before the divorce. Your mother has more time to spend with you. If you lived with me, you’d spend most of your time in boarding schools.”
“I understand that, sir…” He did understand. He had figured out exactly how many days he’d have to spend with this man who hadn’t wanted any children in the first place, and had found them not so many as to be a hardship. “…but, Fred, he…he doesn’t like me.”
The broad shoulders straightened a fraction and the expression became, if possible, sterner. “It takes time to get used to a new parent. Fred’s a good man, give him a chance.”
Desperate now, the boy shifted uneasily in his chair. Living with his father was not his first choice, but living with Fred was out of the question. “But Father, he…he comes into my bedroom at night and makes me do things I don’t like.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Things I think he should be doing with Mother.” There, now he’d said it and his father’s expression hadn’t changed.
“And what did you do?”
“What could I do? He told me if I made any noise or told Mother, I’d be sent away and she’d be very sad.”
Silence dominated the room for several minutes as his father stared at him. Those cold eyes looked like lasers and the young Kenneth Hutchinson couldn’t turn away, didn’t dare move.
“The problem is yours. You have to stop Fred. If you’re man enough, you can. You should not have let it go this far. If you’re not man enough to stop it, you’ll have to put up with it.”
Hutch sternly told himself that this was different, that Starsky loved him for himself and, yes, he loved Starsky. Unable to shake the aura of entrapment, he nevertheless gathered himself and entered the darkened room as quietly as possible, stopping just inside the door watching Starsky breathe. Hutch moved closer and stood looking down at him, searching for the words he needed to say. Starsky lay on his back, hands at his sides, and his face almost matched the white bandage around his head. Eyes closed, he looked asleep.
“Go home.” His voice, weary but firm, startled Hutch. Starsky didn’t move or open his eyes.
“Starsky, I’m sorry, I…”
“Nothing to be sorry for. Go on home. There’s nothin’ you can do here.” He rolled onto his side, back to Hutch, shutting out all further conversation.
A hospital room not being the best place for declarations of undying love. Hutch left, returning to Metro. He wrote up an account of his part in the situation at the bank and a similar report for the shooting board, then was ready to leave. He wanted to talk to Starsky, get back to being best friends, if not partners, but Starsky was out of reach, so all that was left was to go home. But that meant time to think and that he didn’t want to do. Detouring by his desk for a couple of aspirin, he grabbed the phone on the first ring, hoping Starsky had changed his mind, “Hutchinson…”
“Huggy. Starsky talked the doctors into lettin’ him go home. He promised someone would stay with him, tonight. I played taximan, but baby sittin’s your job. Get on over to his place.”
“I can’t. He doesn’t want me around. All I do is upset him and he needs rest.” Hutch despised his own cowardice. Was this really what Starsky wanted?
“Thought you changed your mind?”
“I did, but now’s not the time…”
“Now’s ’bout as good a time as any. I always said you was smart, blondie, but you is ’bout as dumb as they come.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Can’t you see what he’s doin’? He loves you, so he’s giving you the freedom he thinks you want. Now, stop actin’ so stupid and get over there. I ain’t got all night ta spend on the phone.”
It hurt that Starsky had called Huggy but Hutch was grateful it had been their friend and not the other blond. If Starsky was well enough to come home, maybe he was well enough to talk, after all. That is, if Hutch could find a way to convince Starsky that he really had changed his mind and wasn’t putting on an act out of pity.
When he arrived at Starsky’s, everything was dark. The Torino was parked in front and he could hear slight movement inside. Quietly, in case Starsky was sleeping, Hutch let himself in. He banged his shins several times before reaching a light and clicking it on. Starsky sat on the couch, half full bottle of whiskey in one hand, glass in the other.
“Starsky! What’s going on here?” It’d been a long time since Starsky had reacted to pain with booze and Hutch couldn’t remember him doing it alone before.
“Supper,” He held up the bottle and started to drink from it, but Hutch snatched it away.
“You’re gonna kill yourself! Shit, man, you’ve got a head injury! You sit right there until I get back. Do you hear me?”
“‘Course. I ain’t deaf.”
“No, dumb, I swear…” Hutch mumbled, going into the bathroom and turning on the shower. Returning to the living room, he pulled the unresisting form up, “C’mon, Starsk, into the shower.”
“Why?” he said, still reaching for the bottle.
Hutch easily diverted the errant hand, “Because you stink. Didn’t they wash you in the hospital?”
“Huh-uh, wouldn’ let ’em,” he observed owlishly. He said nothing while Hutch undressed him.
Hutch left his partner under the spray and changed the sheets on the bed. He washed the few used dishes scattered around, then started looking for something to cook. Before he got far in the kitchen, Starsky padded out of the bathroom, hair dripping and towel wrapped around his waist. Evidently he’d removed the bandage.
“Now, what? Why’re you here, anyway? I called Huggy.” The challenge was there, the barriers going up.
“And he called me! Into bed, partner, you need a few hours sleep, then I’ll fix you something to eat.” Hutch continued his search for food, but found only more beer and whiskey. That wasn’t like Starsky. Sure, he’d gotten drunk when hurting in the past, but usually with a friend and he hadn’t stopped eating. “What’ve you been eating? There’s no food in the house.”
“There’s beer. Make soup,” he snarled, eyes averted.
Hutch looked at Starsky, then really looked at him. It never took more than a moderate amount of stress to pare Starsky’s already lean body down to skin and bones; now was no exception. No wonder his clothes looked rumpled. It’s a miracle he hasn’t gotten into trouble before now. Suddenly, Hutch realized that Starsky had been putting on an act, probably, since the Sunday before he returned to work. “When did you eat last?”
“Don’t know…yesterday, maybe. Haven’t been hungry, lately.”
“Just thirsty, huh?” Hutch hadn’t meant to say it aloud, but Starsky’s actions shook him. He didn’t like what he saw, didn’t know Starsky had such a talent for self-destructive behavior. He didn’t miss the flash of fire in the cobalt blue eyes, but the anger didn’t stay and Starsky slumped in defeat.
“Why’re you doing this, Hutch?” he asked in a small, quiet voice.
“Because I care what happens to you.”
“Then love me.” His voice was little-boy sad, cutting Hutch through.
“I want to, Starsk, but…I’m not sure…” He desperately wanted to explain, but his mouth was dry and the words wouldn’t come.
“Doesn’t matter.” Starsky moved toward the sleeping alcove, head bowed, totally dejected.
And the memory of Starsky’s kiss flashed into Hutch’s head. He remembered the warmth of Starsky’s mouth and tongue, how he’d responded…could respond now. When he concentrated on the feelings generated by his partner’s touch and not about the act itself, he felt a new contentment. Without conscious thought, he crossed the room and pulled Starsky’s warm, damp body close. That he loved Starsky, he’d never denied, but he had rejected the true depth of his feelings because Starsky had voiced the desire for sex. Sex; something he’d taken for granted with women, hadn’t allowed himself to think about with men. Had he forgotten that sex was only a part of love and not one of the major parts? Unless you let it be. “I’m sorry, babe. I do love you, have for a long time. But I’m not sure I can give you what you want…what I want.” He wrapped his arms tighter around the stilled body.
Starsky didn’t move, held himself stiffly in Hutch’s embrace. “I don’t want a mercy fuck, Hutch, ‘specially not from you.”
“I’m not offering charity, damn it! I worked this all out last night. I tried to tell you when you called. I even left…”
“A note. I found it. You said we had a chance. Some chance with you still running from me.” Starsky jerked free from Hutch and stood facing him, hands on hips, eyes glaring from under lowered lids.
“I do love you…I do want you…at times, but there are things you don’t understand.” Hutch spoke levelly, putting as much honest feeling into his words, as he could. He knew from past experience, that gentling was the only way to cool the anger.
“What’s there to understand? I thought I made myself perfectly clear. I won’t hurt you…or did you think I’d force the issue? Did you think I’d rape you? I’ve never had to resort to that. I’ve always been able to find what I wanted at the bars or, if I had to, the baths.”
That stopped Hutch for a minute. That Starsky knew about the bars and baths didn’t surprise him, of course, but the picture of his partner as one of the pitiful souls who frequented the places he’d seen, hurt. He didn’t want to think of Starsky like that. He took several steps closer to the cornered man. “No, Starsk, no! When I think about you, look at you, I…I want you, but then…”
“You want me? Do you know what you’re askin’ for?” He mocked, sliding both hands suggestively down his chest, stopping with both thumbs tucked inside the edge of the towel. “Let me show you.” Suiting actions to words, he slowly pulled the towel apart, then dropped it. Standing there facing Hutch, a subtle transformation took place. It wasn’t anything Hutch could put his finger on, it was just there, and Starsky was no longer the Starsky he knew, but a cat-man emitting raw sex. He cupped his balls with one hand, stroked his cock with the other. “This what you want?” Starsky purred. “Be damn sure, because if you ask for it, you’re gonna get it. Once I get started, Blondie, I don’t stop.” The voice hardened and chilled the air between them.
Hutch was fascinated and repelled at the same time. He couldn’t respond to Starsky like this. He wanted, needed, the loving that belonged there. “I do love you and I do want you, but not like that! I want to make love to you…want you to make love to me, but that’s a helluva lot more than you’re offering to me, here.”
Starsky looked up at him, eyes wide open, face softer, like storm clouds that were thinning, but not quite enough to let the sun fully through. Again the subtle change, and he raised his left hand to caress Hutch’s cheek, trace it down the jaw line. “You really do love me?” he murmured.
He was like a skittish colt and Hutch was uncertain what to do next. Following his instincts alone, he simply pulled Starsky into a gentle embrace, pushing the head down so the curls lay soft against his shoulder, and held him.
Starsky seemed to melt into Hutch, and slowly, hesitantly, his arms came up to rest against Hutch’s back.
They stood there for several minutes, finally at ease with each other, then Starsky moved away, picked up the towel and replaced it. “Let’s sit on the couch and talk.”
“I thought you wanted…” Hutch’s voice trailed off, puzzled.
“I do, but right now, it’s enough to know that you love me. I’ll sit here and hold you, and you can tell me why you changed your mind.” He suited actions to words, sinking down onto the couch, pulling Hutch with him, and settling them both with his arms around Hutch, and Hutch’s head on Starsky’s shoulder.
Hutch felt a little awkward, being the taller of the two, but if Starsky wanted to hold him, he’d let him. They sat there, shrouded in silence, content to be in each other’s arms without threats or demands hanging over them.
“Why did you transfer? Break up the partnership?”
“I asked you first, didn’t I? I tried so hard, Hutch.”
“Humor me.”
Silence, and Hutch felt Starsky’s mouth and nose in his hair; lips and tongue on his ear. “What’re you doing?” Voice soft, body still relaxed against his partner.
“Tasting you…ah, Hutch, I do love ya’, ya’ know?”
“I know.” Intrigued by the wistfulness in Starsky’s voice, Hutch waited.
“All right, I’ll stop avoiding the question. I transferred because I knew I couldn’t keep my hands off you anymore, and I saw how terrified you were at the idea of me making love to you. I didn’t understand, but I noticed.”
Hutch snuggled closer, unsure of what was expected, but loving Starsky all the more. “You left so you wouldn’t hurt me?”
Starsky pulled himself out of the embrace and flung himself off the couch, walked over to the window, whole body tense. “That’s what I told myself, anyway. I’m not even sure I deserve your love.”
Hutch waited, watching Starsky move restlessly around the room, sensing there was more to come.
“But the truth is, I love you too much to let you go without a fight, and I know you too well not to know, exactly, how you would…and did…react to my actions.”
“That doesn’t explain why you don’t deserve my love. I haven’t been completely up front with you, either.”
Starsky laughed. A harsh, bitter sound that Hutch didn’t remember hearing before. “In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never refused me anything that really mattered. The one time that you do, I don’t love you enough to accept it.” He looked straight at Hutch as he talked; eyes bleak and full of self-loathing. “And I would’ve just accepted your love and never told you, if you hadn’t asked. I’m sorry, babe. You’d better leave before I hurt you more.”
Hutch went to him, then and pulled him close, mouthing kisses into the dark hair just under his nose. A pensive sigh escaped Starsky as he sagged against Hutch.
“Come back to the sofa. I’ve got some explaining to do. You’re not the only one who hasn’t been entirely honest.”
Starsky allowed himself to be pulled to the couch and nestled beside Hutch. This time, it was Hutch who held Starsky and nuzzled dark curls.
“When I was six, my parents were divorced and I went to live with my mother. Good choice, because my father, while he did all the expected fatherly things, never wanted any children at all, ever.” Starsky’s arms tightened around Hutch at this statement, but he didn’t comment and Hutch continued, “Two years later, my mother married Fred…”
“Fred who?” No real curiosity, just gentle interest.
“It doesn’t matter. I liked him. We did all sorts of things together…went to the zoo, played baseball…you know.”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t know you liked the zoo.”
“I don’t…not anymore.” Hutch paused. The next part wasn’t easy to admit in his own mind and he wondered how Starsky would take it; if Starsky would still want him after he knew.
And want him Starsky did, that was evident. Fingers unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time. Warm hands on his skin, making smooth circles on his chest…the warmth spreading. “Don’t. I can’t talk with you doing that.”
“Sorry, you…you re right. But it’s tough to sit still with you so close.” Starsky looked and sounded abashed.
“I liked it Starsk, but it’s hard enough to tell this without distractions.”
Starsky sat up, hands held primly in his lap. “Okay, I’ll be good, I promise.
Hutch almost laughed. “You idiot. C’mon back over here.” He pulled him back into his arms. “About, oh, I don’t know, sometime under a year, Fred started coming into my room at night. It wasn’t so bad…at first, just him touching me in odd places, and then wanting to kiss and suck my penis…wanting me to suck him. It scared me, but it didn’t hurt…not then.” The words came out in a rush and he felt Starsky’s arms harden like steel bands around him as he moved and shifted to shield.
“It’s okay, Hutch. Don’t…you don’t have to say anymore. I…”
“Yes, I do. Let me finish, because if I don’t, it’ll stay between us.” Starsky was quiet, but the hand soothing the back of his hair never stopped. “I don’t want to go into detail. You’ve seen as much as I have. I went to my father after the first time Fred…after he sodomized me.” It was easier to stay very clinical with descriptions.
“Good, good,” Starsky murmured approval into his hair.
“But my father,” Hutch heard the bitterness in his voice, the resentment, “…told me it was my problem and I had to deal with it or I’d never be a man worth anything. I’d…I’d end up just like Fred.”
“Oh, God, Hutch. How could he say that? You were his son.” Starsky looked at him with such shock and horror, that Hutch had to bite back a smile.
“He never wanted children. I was an accident. His cross to bear as the consequences of the marriage bed.”
“You were still his son. How could he not love you?”
Without commenting, Hutch picked up his story, eager to be finished, especially with his body leaping to respond to Starsky’s crawling all over him. “I couldn’t stop him, and I was afraid to tell my mother, so it continued until, after one particularly rough night, she found blood on my sheets and took me to the doctor. After that Fred was gone. My mother was sad for awhile. She took me to a counselor and between the two of them, over a lot of time, convinced me that what Fred did wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t have prevented it. I needed my mother’s help. We moved out here and I haven’t seen my father since.”
“Hutch, I…” But Starsky was unable to say anything; he just looked at Hutch and let his love shine out.
Hutch chuckled and ruffled the curls, “I’m not through, yet. When I saw you at the window with that other guy, I was jealous and hurt. I didn’t understand why you were with him and not with me.”
Starsky struggled and would’ve moved back enough to look at him, would’ve said something, but Hutch held him tight. “Shh, let me finish. I wanted you right then. But memories and dreams of Fred’s assaults kept interfering. I was letting what he did, and what my father said, come between us. For awhile, I forgot the things my mother taught me.
Starsky stopped him with a kiss. A deep, searching, knowing kiss that left Hutch breathless when they finally broke for air.
“I’ve got…one more…question, Starsk…”
“No more questions. I can’t wait any longer,” and the mouth was back, tasting of whiskey and man. He pushed Hutch back until he was lying full on top, erection thrusting against erection, hands roughly pulling and tugging at his shirt.
With an effort, and no little struggle, Hutch managed to push Starsky back, but not away. Heat of budding passion vied with heat of budding anger. “Why…were…you at…that bank…today?”
All movement stilled, Starsky raised up and looked down at him, confusion clearing for bleak understanding, then an unreadable expression. Fear?
“You don’t think I planned that?” Husky whisper and the Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I went to close my bank accounts. I was leaving. I’d decided I was using you and that wasn’t the way it should be. I wanted, no, needed, you to want me and you were scared. My resignation was, still is I guess, on Davis’ desk. I’d be gone now, if Preston hadn’t gotten in front of me in line. You know the rest. Here I am and I ain’t ever gonna leave, ‘less you want me to.”
This time Hutch didn’t stop the barrage of kisses his partner covered his face with. He was helpless when Starsky finished removing his shirt and trailed warm, wet kisses across and down his chest. Strangely, Starsky stayed clear of Hutch’s groin and the growing bulge. Then the fiery weight was gone and he looked up, startled.
Starsky walked toward the bed. One hundred percent man and rippling with sensuality, making Hutch’s breathing ragged as his desire climbed. Once more, he slowly lowered the towel. All Hutch could do was watch. Starsky dressed was enough to send Hutch’s pulse skyward, but this Starsky nude, was incredible. Hutch was drawn to the bed like a moth to a flame. Not realizing he had loosened his own pants, he tripped and stumbled his way toward his partner until his ankles freed themselves of the hampering cloth. In the stories and songs of his childhood, love’s first kiss brought on the sound of bells, but when Starsky kissed him, this time, Hutch heard a whole orchestra. In his turn, he patted and tweaked and touched as much of his lover as he could reach. At first, trying to mimic Starsky’s movements, Hutch was too distracted to pay attention and finally abandoned Starsky’s lead to following his own instincts, and marveled at the response he got.
That the bucking, wriggling creature under him was a man, made not a bit of difference. The feel of soft body hair on chest and back and thighs was new, but no less exciting. The smell, taste and sound of Starsky’s response to his ministrations, were a symphony of stimuli.
“Oh, God, Starsky, now…do something…now…”
Starsky did, he crossed his ankles and pulled Hutch closer with strong thigh muscles. Without a second’s thought, Hutch was there and too far gone to resist the pull of Starsky’s body. Moist from arousal, Hutch’s steel shaft entered Starsky’s center and he was lost.
They came together in one incredible orgasm of song. Hutch’s voice matched his love’s and he sank gratefully into the arms that surrounded and held, stroking his hair and back almost distractedly.
When sensation eased and sanity returned, Hutch became aware of a niggling irritation with Starsky for having ambushed him. All right, so I knew you’d want that someday, but did it have to be now? “Why, Starsk? Why that way the first time we’re together?” He mouthed the question into his lover’s chest.
“Because I like it ‘that way.’ And because you had to know just how right, ‘that way’ can be. I wanted Fred gone, for good.”
“Well, you certainly succeeded.” And the irritation evaporated. “What do you want, now?”
“To find a place of our own, where we can be together. I want to live with you, Hutch.”
“How? IA would crucify us.”
The curls bounced from side to side, “Unh-unh, I checked with Dobey. I have a good excuse to need a roommate. Bills from when I was in the hospital are still hanging over my head and everything’s going up ‘cept our salaries…”
“I gotcha. Want to go house hunting after work, tomorrow?”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Suddenly shy, Starsky looked away, then back, eyes wet with unshed moisture. “I’d…I’d like that.” Then to cover his emotionalism, “I’ve got tomorrow off to recuperate, you take tomorrow off, too, and we’ll spend all day looking.”
Hutch rolled off him, then pulled him closer, to cradle Starsky’s head on his shoulder, a position that was fast becoming a favorite; he pulled a sheet over them, “I’ll ask Dobey, but I’m not recuperating.”
“The night’s not over, yet,” Starsky leered.
“Get some sleep.”
“Ummmmm, yeah. I love you, Hutch.” And he began a leisurely attack on his lover.
lover (luv ‘ar) n. one who loves; specif., a) sweetheart b) a paramour c) [pl.] a couple in love with each other.
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