Monk

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Dobey found the paper he was looking for and held it up. “As a matter of fact, this is what’s wrong. I wanted both of you to hear this from me rather than the streets.”

 

This was originally published in the zine, Venice Place Times III, in 2002, produced by Venice Place Press

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The clear night came as a relief. The previous five had held unrelenting rain and thunder, but tonight, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Hutch knew if it weren’t for the Bay City lights and smog, an infinite number of stars would be seen dotting the sky. What he wouldn’t give to be back in Minnesota at that moment, where he could stare endlessly at the beauty of the constellations intertwining with the Milky Way. I bet Mom and Dad are gazing into that telescope, trying to decide which of Jupiter’s moons are out tonight.

For now, he would have to settle for his perch on top of a crane parked inside a construction site, staring into a set of powerful binoculars, continuously scanning the yard from one end to the other. Occasionally, when boredom got the best of him, he’d point them skyward at the glowing planet adjacent to the crescent moon. I wonder what’s happening on Jupiter these days?

His partner and best friend, Starsky, hid thirty yards from him, inside what would eventually become a sewer pipe for the building. The pipe was just large enough for him to curl up in. His back rested against the inner wall; his knees were drawn up to his chest, with his arms folded across them, and his head resting on top. He was tightly wrapped in a thick black-and-white sweater his mother had knitted for him years ago. He rarely wore the heavy garment on duty, complaining it weighed him down when running after suspects. However, sitting out in this night’s brisk temperatures made that sweater a very welcome commodity. He reasoned he could quickly slip out of it if he had to chase anybody down.

A walkie-talkie sat in Starsky’s pocket, with a mini earphone plugged into it and a wire leading up to his ear. Hutch, using his own walkie-talkie, would wake his slumbering partner when it was time to make their move, or when it was Hutch’s turn for a nap, whichever came first.

Hutch stared at his watch and thought about waking Starsky, so he could finally catch some much needed sleep. You look as though these past few nights here have been hard on you. I know you can’t take another full night doing this. Okay, buddy, this night is yours, but only because you looked like death warmed over even before we got here. Let’s just say you owe me one.

A quick but cold blast of air hit them both, causing Hutch to quickly snap up his baseball jacket and flip up the collar. Starsky barely stirred when the cold air whistled by. After shaking off the cold, Hutch returned his attention to the building structure and silently prayed something would go down, so he and Starsky could actually sleep in their own beds tonight. Wouldn’t that be nice? Well, at least it’s not raining again. I think if one more drop fell, this tractor and I would float away for sure.

Tonight was the fourth straight night Starsky, Hutch, and ten of their fellow detectives had staked out this construction site. It seemed to have become a new hot spot for a big drug operation. Gaining access to the site was easy enough, and the large amount of material and machinery made for plenty of privacy between dealers and buyers.

This case had literally landed in their laps. A week earlier, a couple of rookie uniforms had busted a fifteen-year-old boy, dealing nickel and dime marijuana on the streets. The terrified teen began rambling off details of this place in order to win favoritism and ultimately a break from prosecution. He received no deals for his effort; he got what everyone in his line of work always received–a slap on the wrist and the demand for a “solemn” promise to the judge that he’d never sell the stuff again as long as he lived.

An investigation proved the teen was telling the truth; there was heavy drug activity at that site. According to Huggy, word on the street was that there was going to be a heroin deal worth several thousands of dollars going down within the next few days. He’d had no names to provide but promised to keep his ears open. These were the people the Feds really wanted, not the petty dope dealers. If caught, these dealers wouldn’t see the streets again for a long time.

Hutch’s attention zoomed in on the glow of a flashlight moving within the skeleton of the building structure. He immediately flattened into a prone position to avoid detection. Please be our guys, Hutch prayed. He desperately wanted this stakeout to be done with in the worst way. A second flashlight appeared and could be seen moving toward the first one. Hutch pulled the radio from his pocket and pressed the squelch button. Starsky woke with a start.

“Huh? Wha?” He looked around, glumly remembering where he was. “Oh, yeah.” He grabbed the two-way and held it to his mouth. “‘S matta’, Hutch? Your turn? ‘Kay, go ‘head, I’ll look out.” His groggy voice was so garbled Hutch could barely make out his words.

“Shake the sandman out, Starsk, looks like it’s finally going down.”

Those words quickly perked Starsky up. “‘S goin’ down? Where?”

“Take a look at the building.”

Starsky reached down beside him, grabbed his binoculars, and aimed them at the structure. “Oh, man, I’d give a thousand bucks right now for those to be our guys.”

“I’m with you on that one, buddy,” Hutch responded.

Hutch spoke to the rest of the crew. “Okay, guys, don’t make any moves until I give the orders. I want to make sure we know exactly what we’re dealing with. Remember what we discussed; you all know your roles once we move in.”

“Hey, Hutch,” Starsky chimed in, “how many of ’em do you see?” Hutch took a long careful look before responding.

“Uh…one…two…three…four. I think I see four silhouettes, but I can’t be sure. How about you?”

“I see four, too.”

“Let’s watch for a while and see what happens. We have about five other detectives hidden literally ten feet from them. They can get the drop on them in a heart beat.”

“Well, call and ask them what’s going on.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sure they’ve muted their radios by now so the suspects can’t hear them. Wait for one of them to give the signal.”

Earlier, they had worked out signals they would use with the radio squelch to let each other know if the suspects showed, and how many of them there were. After what seemed like an eternity for everyone waiting, a code of bleeps came over the radio, alerting them there were four suspects exchanging packages. At that moment, Hutch gave the go ahead, and all ten detectives systematically rose from their hiding spots, with guns and rifles drawn, and totally dominated the scene. Some blocked all possible escape routes; others surrounded both cars driven by the buyers and dealers, looking for other possible suspects. Two were taken from the dealers’ car; none were in the buyers’ car.

“Freeze! Police!” several of the officers descending onto the building site yelled. “Get down, get down! Everyone get down! Hands in the air and get on the ground! Now!” they ordered while running toward their marks. The four startled men looked at the oncoming team of police, dropped everything in their hands, and attempted to scatter. The two detectives hiding up front each quickly apprehended an assailant. The suspects never knew the policemen were practically under their noses until they were face down on the ground.

The other two suspects made a break for it. One of the detectives hidden near Starsky and Hutch ran one down; the other suspect ran directly across Starsky’s path. “What dumb luck,” Starsky mumbled to himself, as he peeled away his heavy sweater and went full speed ahead toward his man.

Hutch could only look on as Starsky tackled his suspect into a thick, soupy pool of mud. Hutch ran to the edge of the puddle and watched in surprise as one mud-covered man made his way to his feet and hauled the second one to his feet. They were so caked and completely covered, Starsky’s loud, boisterous ranting was Hutch’s only real clue as to who was who.

“This damn rain! Damn it! Look at me! I’m all covered in this shit because of you!” Starsky yelled to his suspect. With that, he smacked the man on the head for good measure, then shoved him toward Hutch. “Get up there you big, dumb ass!” he ordered.

The suspect walked out of the mud pool with his hands above his head and was quickly snatched up by the blond partner. Hutch winced as the smell of the stagnant mud hit his nose.

“Whoa, man, talk about aromatic!” he complained.

“Never mind that, look at me! Look at what Bozo made me do!” Starsky continued his tirade.

“Jesus, Starsk, you’re a real mess.” Hutch looked up at the suspect. “And so are you, for that matter.” He cuffed the man’s hands and ordered one of the other lower-ranking detectives to take him to lock-up.

Hutch turned back toward Starsky and looked him up and down. He would’ve thought it was funny if Starsky weren’t trembling so much. He recalled how worn down his friend was at the beginning of the night, and this could only add to his misery. He grasped Starsky’s arm and coaxed him along. .

“Come on, partner. Let’s get back to the station and get you cleaned up.”

“Gotta get my sweater first,” Starsky groaned before letting out a hearty cough.

Hutch furrowed his eyebrows and placed the back of his hand on Starsky’s forehead. “Hey, are you coming down with something?”

Starsky batted his hand away, pulled free of Hutch’s soft grip, and walked away. Hutch walked right beside him.

“I’m all right. I just gotta get some sleep.”

“Sure you do,” Hutch reluctantly agreed. He took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the mud from his hands. Starsky quickly snatched it from him and used it to wipe his eyes and nose.

“You wouldn’t be wanting this back, would you?”

Hutch just looked at his once white handkerchief and rolled his eyes. “No, not really.”

As they approached the sweater, Hutch said, “Here, let me get that for you, Starsk. You wouldn’t want to get it all muddy.” Hutch scooped the sweater from the ground and slung it over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Hutch. Hey, you know what?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m glad we took your car today, I’d sure hate to get mine all mucked up.”

Hutch sighed and shook his head, but the jab from his partner was very welcomed–that meant he wasn’t completely down for the count.

“That’s my Starsky, always thinking on his feet.” Hutch frowned when Starsky answered with another harsh, productive cough. “We need to get you cleaned up and under the covers, buddy. Come on.”

_*_*_*_

Hutch sat at his desk, tapping away at the typewriter and making headway on the arrest report. They still needed to inventory the confiscated drugs and money, but that wouldn’t take place until the next day. All detectives involved were undeniably exhausted and had unanimously agreed to wait until morning before conquering that task.

Captain Dobey emerged from his office and approached Hutch’s desk. “How’s that report coming along, Hutchinson?”

Hutch stopped typing and looked up at his boss. “Well, we’re all working on it, Captain, but it won’t be completed until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, I’m afraid.”

“Very well. The DA won’t even get to it before then anyway.” Dobey quickly scanned the squadroom.

“Where’s that partner of yours?”

“In the shower, Captain. He took a mud bath tonight while making his arrest.” Hutch couldn’t help but smirk, remembering the sight of his partner earlier that evening. But when he remembered how miserable Starsky looked, his smile faded.

Captain Dobey sighed, causing Hutch to look up at him again. Hutch immediately noticed his superior’s uneasy expression.

“Something on your mind, Captain?”

Dobey briefly looked away and nervously rubbed his hands together. “Urn… as a matter of fact, there is.” He jerked his thumb toward his door. “I need to see you two in my office, now.”

“Well, I think Starsky’s going to be a while, Captain, I can just relay your message back to him.”

“Did I give you that option, Hutchinson? I said I needed to see you both, now what does that mean?” Dobey barked.

Hutch sucked in a breath, then pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up. “I’ll go get him then.”

When Hutch walked into the men’s locker room, he could feel the humidity from the hot running water permeating the air. He winced at the smell when he passed a large trash can stuffed with Starsky’s muddied clothing, then proceeded to the shower room.

Starsky’s back was toward him. The large, mud-stained ring on the floor surrounding his lather covered partner drew a small smile from Hutch. Poor guy, you really didn’t need this tonight, did you?

“Hey, are you doin’ okay in here?” he called out to his partner.

Slightly startled by his unexpected visitor, Starsky spun around toward the voice. “Huh? Oh, Hutch, yeah, be out in a sec. You get that paperwork done?”

Hutch shrugged. “About as much as I could do for tonight. Hey, Dobey wants us both in his office, ASAP.”

Starsky stood under the shower spray, to rinse the dingy lather from his body. “Great!” he complained. “What does he want now?”

Hutch shrugged. “Who knows? Probably wants to send us on another stakeout.”

“Oh, God, Hutch, don’t even think that. I swear I don’t think I can take another night sitting around staring at nothing.” Starsky up-ended a shampoo bottle, pouring a generous amount into his palm.

Hutch smiled. “I hear you, buddy.”

Starsky replaced the shampoo bottle and began lathering up his hair. “You know, you sound as worn out as I feel. I tell ya, it’s gonna be great sleeping in my own bed tonight, Hutch. Just wish we didn’t have to come back tomorrow, ya know? I’d love to have a day off after all of this.”

“Wouldn’t we all?”

Starsky scrubbed his hair to loosen what mud remained from the previous washings. Hutch turned away and walked toward the lockers.

“You better put a nickel in it, Starsk. Dobey didn’t sound like he was in the mood to wait.”

After rinsing away the soapy water, Starsky turned off the shower, grabbed one towel and wrapped it around his waist, then took another one to dry himself. Hutch was straddling the bench in front of their lockers when Starsky finally emerged from the shower room.

Starsky took in a deep breath through his nose, “I think that steam cleared up my sinuses,” he exclaimed, relieved to have finally washed away the mud.

Hutch looked up at Starsky. “You still look pale; this week sure hasn’t been easy on you.”

Starsky looked down at his friend. “You’re not looking too hot yourself, Sunshine. You had the same lousy week I had. You need to get home and get some rest as much as I do.”

After drying himself off, Starsky started pulling clean clothes out of his locker and laid them neatly across the bench. Working the dirty streets, it was common practice for officers to keep an extra set of clothing in their lockers. Tonight, it proved useful. He stripped off his towel and began dressing.

Hutch shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ll be better after a few hours’ sleep.”

Starsky worked his way into a clean pair of jeans. “You’ll be better after about twelve hours of sleep, buddy.”

Hutch sighed. “The only problem with that thought is, we have to be back here in eight.”

“Sickening, just sickening,” Starsky grumbled, as he slipped his arms into a denim button-down shirt, before going into another coughing attack. “After spending an ungodly number of hours in that damn sewer pipe, you’d think the least he would do is give us a day or two off.” Starsky sat down next to Hutch and slipped a brand new pair of blue Adidas onto his feet.

Hutch watched, wondering if Starsky might have a lifetime supply of those sneakers stored someplace. He always seemed to have a replacement pair on hand, for the worn out or ruined ones. He shrugged off the thought. “We all have to be here to inventory the contraband.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’m tellin’ ya, Hutch, I think afterwards we should scram for the day. Whatd’ya say?”

“I say that would be up to Captain Dobey, and speaking of Dobey, if we don’t get ourselves into his office, we may get a whole lot of days off, if you catch my drift.”

Starsky finish tying his shoes and quickly ran his fingers through his wet hair a few times. “Then get off your tail, Hutchinson, and let’s get going.” Starsky brushed passed him and headed for the door.

Hutch responded with a dirty look before standing up and following his partner.

_*_*_*_

Starsky, in his usual manner, barged his way into Captain Dobey’s office, with Hutch tagging behind. “You wanted to see us, Cap’n?”

“I’d like to see you knock for once, Starsky, but I guess that’s asking for too much. Take a seat, both of you.” They both sat in the two chairs positioned in front of their captain’s desk and watched him fumble through the small pile of papers in front of him.

“Something wrong, Cap’n?” Starsky asked.

Dobey found the paper he was looking for and held it up. “As a matter of fact, this is what’s wrong. I wanted both of you to hear this from me rather than the streets. I don’t quite know how to tell you this, so I’m going to just come out and say it. Allen Phylos is out on parole.”

Starsky sat straight up. “Is this some sort of joke?!”

Hutch raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

“I said Allen Phylos, and no, Starsky, I’m not joking.

“How the hell did that happen?” Starsky inquired none too pleased.

Hutch still didn’t have a clue. “Allen Phylos?” He turned toward Starsky. “How do we know him?”

Starsky, barely audible, mumbled to his partner, “He’s talking about Monk.”

Suddenly, a cold fist clamped around Hutch’s heart, and a large knot grew in his stomach. He wondered if he was about to stop breathing.

“Monk? Is that who we’re talking about?” Hutch couldn’t believe how shaky his voice sounded.

Dobey nodded slightly . “Yes, Allen Phylos, aka Monk.” Hutch froze in his chair, not believing what he had just heard.

Five years earlier, Starsky had shot Monk in an alley, during an attempt to arrest him for kidnapping, beating, and stringing out Hutch on heroin. After the shooting, Monk was at first thought to be dead, until a conscientious paramedic located a faint pulse. Although near death, Monk had managed to survive the shooting and withstand a trial. He was sent to jail for several crimes committed while working for a high profile mob boss named Ben Forest.

Starsky reached over and softly grasped his partner’s arm to get his attention. “Hey, you okay?”

Hutch closed his eyes and took a few moments to absorb what he had just heard. He rose to his feet, went to the water cooler, grabbed a paper cup, and filled it. He gulped down the cool liquid, bringing immediate relief to his suddenly dry throat, then crushed the cup in his large hand and began pacing the small office floor.

“Let me get this straight, Captain. Monk, as in Forest’s right-hand man, is out on parole?” Dobey and Starsky watched as Hutch uneasily paced back and forth, crushing the paper cup into a tighter and tighter ball.

“He was let out two weeks ago, but I only found out myself this afternoon.”

Hutch turned toward the desk, rested his hands on the edge of it, and leaned in toward the large man. “How?” he demanded. “How the hell does a man like Monk get paroled after five stinking years for what he’s done to me?” he yelled.

Starsky rose from his chair, stood next to Hutch, and put a hand on his back. “Come on, pal, take it easy,” he murmured softly.

“Keep your voice down, Hutchinson! You want the entire department to hear you?” Dobey bellowed.

Hutch took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down as much as he could.

“Come on, sit down, Hutch.” Starsky led Hutch back to his chair and pulled his own right next to him and took a seat himself. “You okay, pal?” Starsky mumbled. Hutch took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then nodded slightly.

“Now listen to me, Hutchinson,” Dobey continued, “you have to remember, it wasn’t Phylos the DA wanted, it was Ben Forest. Phylos testified against him for a reduced sentence and only served a fraction before making it out on parole for good behavior. And as for kidnapping you, you have to remember, we couldn’t divulge that information to the DA, so nobody was ever charged with it. As far as the system knows, it never happened.”

In an instant, Hutch was back on his feet and once again leaning against Dobey’s desk. “Never happened?” Hutch shouted. “My being kidnapped and drugged and having my life changed forever never happened? What the hell kind of world is this when some animal can get away clean for doing that to someone?” He pushed himself away from the desk, then turned toward the door and ran a nervous hand through his hair.

Starsky decided the best course of action to take right now was to let Hutch get it out of his system. He’d talk to him about it later.

“You’re talking like a victim instead of a cop!” Dobey pointed out.

Hutch spun back toward his boss and pointed to his own chest, “I am the damn victim here! Or did you forget?”

Dobey shot out of his chair and yelled back. “I could never forget that, but would you rather the authorities knew about it, Hutchinson?” He jabbed his finger at Hutch. “It was kept under wraps to protect you, to keep you from getting thrown off the–”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Hutch heaved a heavy sigh then, leaned his arm against the wall, briefly looked down, then back up toward Captain Dobey. His tone was lighter now. “I always thought he’d be away forever, like Forest. I never expected to hear this.” Hutch paused. “Forest is in for keeps, right?”

Dobey, too, softened his voice, but remained on his feet. “The only way Forest will leave the jail system is in a coffin, that is, unless he manages to live for the next 150 years.”

Hutch nodded and sighed again. “Well, I appreciate the information, Captain. I suppose you’re right, it’s better I hear it from you than from the news or some other place.

“Very well then.” Dobey looked at his watch. “Listen, why don’t you two get out of here, just be back early to inventory those items. I want that report ready before noon; the DA will be looking for it by then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Starsky agreed. Like an old man, he slowly made his way to his feet and walked over to Hutch, who was leaning against the wall with his head down. “You okay?” Starsky asked quietly.

Hutch looked up at Starsky, just noticing him, then nodded slightly. “Yeah.” He sighed heavily, pushed himself away from the wall, then turned toward Dobey’s desk. “‘Night Captain.”

“Good night, gentlemen. Don’t forget, I want to see the two of you back here bright and early tomorrow.” With that, he threw Starsky a look that told him to look after his partner.

Starsky gave him a quick nod–message received.

_*_*_*_

“How the hell does a man like Monk get out on parole? He should’ve never been allowed out,” Hutch ranted as they made their way toward the garage.

“You know as well as I do, the system works like a revolving door.” Starsky started another coughing fit before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and blowing his nose.

Hutch held back his comments, not wanting to sound overbearing about a cough. “Yeah, but him?” Hutch continued the conversation.

They exited the building, walked into the garage and up to their cars. “Listen, Hutch,” Starsky began sympathetically, “I know hearing Monk was out didn’t exactly make your night, but you have to realize it was Forest who was behind what happened. Monk was nothing more than a puppet who followed his every direction. Forest pulled all the strings; it’s him you want to keep in jail. He’d be the one who’d come after you, not Monk–he doesn’t have any reason to.”

Hutch bowed his head and nodded lightly. “I know.” His voice was barely audible.

Starsky gave him a pat on the back. “Listen, Hutch, go home and get some rest. If this thing still bothers you, we’ll deal with it. For now, just try and let it all blow over.”

Hutch looked up. “Well, I thought I’d stay with you tonight since you’re not feeling too well.”

“Jeez, Hutch, I’m only comin’ down with a cold, not malaria. It ain’t the first one I’ve had, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. I’m a big boy, Mom; I can take care of myself.” Starsky coughed again. “The question is, are you going to be all right going home by yourself?”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, Starsk, I’m not afraid of the boogey man.”

“You sure you’re all right then?”

“I’m fine, Starsky.”

Starsky nodded toward Hutch’s hand. “Open your hand.”

“What?” Hutch looked down and noticed for the first time, his right hand was tightly clenched into a fist. He turned it upward and slowly opened it. Starsky picked up the balled up paper cup.

“You’re fine, huh?”

Hutch quickly snatched the paper cup from Starsky and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. “Could’ve happened to anyone,” he quickly explained.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Hutch?” Starsky was now thinking that Hutch might be taking the whole thing harder than he thought.

“I said I was fine. Now go home and get some sleep.” Hutch turned and quickly walked toward his car. Are you picking me up tomorrow?” he called over his shoulder.

“Just like we planned.”

Hutch slid into the driver’s seat of his LTD, started it up and began pulling out, before stopping in front of the Torino. “Call if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Starsky gave his partner a mock salute. “Now get outta here.” Hutch waved before pulling away. Starsky watched the car leave the garage, turn onto the street, and disappear.

He should be all right, right? Starsky tried convincing himself, but the memories of finding Hutch in the alley that afternoon suddenly appeared in his head, and they were as clear as if it all happened yesterday. I can’t begin to imagine the hell he went through. Starsky shook his head as if to clear it of those thoughts, then got into his car and drove home.

_*_*_*_

When he came to, Hutch found himself blindfolded and tied to a chair. What’s going on? Where am I? Hey, what the…? Who’s there? His attempts to struggle free from the ropes tightly binding his hands behind his back were all in vain.

Someone grabbed a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back.

“Where is she, Hutchinson?”

Monk?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Hutch felt a sudden crush of pain to one side of his face, then to the other side. His head swam, and he felt as if he were spinning like a top, and he thought he’d pass out again.

It’s Jeanie they want. I can’t give her to them.

Another blow to the face, followed by one to the ribs, then the stomach, the face again. He’d barely catch his breath before more blows would follow.

The violent session went on seemingly without end; every time he refused to give up Jeanie, the beatings worsened.

Please! No more! I can’t take it.

When one thug became tired, the other would take over. Hutch would occasionally pass out, but the beatings would begin again as soon as he would awake.

“Where’s Jeanie?”

“Who?”

Another round of punches followed. Hutch could taste the blood in his mouth. More blood rushed from his nose. By now his eyes were so swollen, a blindfold would no longer be necessary.

“Don’t be dumb, Hutchinson.”

“I’m not Hushinson, I-I don’t know what you’re talking ’bout.” The numbness to his face, in addition to his inflamed lips, made his speech practically incomprehensible. Another powerful blow tipped the chair back, and there was nothing Hutch could do to keep his head from smacking against the floor.

_*_*_*_

Hutch sat straight up in bed, holding a hand to the back of his head. He then quickly patted around his eyes, nose and mouth to be sure they were okay. He panted breathlessly; the t-shirt he wore to bed was now soaked and clinging to his body. “Shit!” he exclaimed between breaths. “I can’t believe this. This is crazy; it’s been five years. It’s only Monk–he’s nothing.”

Hutch held up his hand in front of him and watched it tremble. “Then why am I scared to death?” He looked over at the phone, then the clock. “I’m not going to call him at three a.m. to tell him I had a nightmare. He’ll think I’m crazy.” Before going to bed that night, Hutch had felt as if he too might be coming down with a cold, so he’d taken a mixture of vitamins and sinus medicine. He attributed his nightmares to that, and the stress of knowing Monk was now on the streets. Knowing this did little to reassure him.

Hutch finally convinced himself to calm down, but he knew going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so he pulled the covers aside and got out of bed. On the way to the kitchen, he pulled off his drenched t-shirt and tossed it in the direction of the hamper, located in the comer of his bedroom. It was too dark to tell if it made it there, and he really didn’t care enough to look. He grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, walked into the living area, took the television remote control from the coffee table, and plopped onto the sofa. No telling what’s on at this hour. After flipping from one late night show to another, he stopped when he spotted a huge moth flying over Japan. I wonder what Starsky sees in these movies? Just the fact that the movie reminded him of his best friend was somehow comforting.

Hutch tipped the amber bottle and was in the midst of gulping down a good amount of beer, when a familiar sound caused him to freeze in place. The door to his apartment building slammed shut, then footsteps slowly ascended the stairway. He lowered the bottle from his lips and located the mute button on the remote control with his thumb. With every step he heard, his heart raced faster.

He could’ve sworn he heard Starsky say to him: Don’t just sit there, dummy, do something!

Snapping out of his stupor, Hutch rose to his feet and quickly tiptoed his way into his bedroom and grabbed his gun. “I’m ready for you this time, Monk,” he whispered to himself. After ­checking it for rounds, he hurried back into the living room and stood by his apartment door, listening for whomever was out there make his way to the landing.

When the stranger finally did, Hutch pulled open his door and aimed his gun directly at his neighbor’s back. “Stop right there, or I’ll…uh…oh.” Hutch quickly pulled the gun away and held it behind the door before Tom Hubbard could turn around.

“What the–? Ken? What’s going on?” Tom Hubbard lived in the apartment across the hall from Hutch. Being a fireman, he, like Hutch, had a varying work schedule. With both men working odd hours, the two neighbors rarely saw each other. Tom was fumbling for the keys to get into his own apartment, when Hutch burst from his.

“Oh, nothing. I heard something out here, and I…uh…well, I’m not used to hearing you coming in…you know? And me being a cop, well, you just can never be too sure about things these days.” Hutch finished his explanation with a smile of embarrassment, knowing how lame it sounded.

“Is that why you’re standing out in the hall in your underwear?” Tom smirked.

Hutch looked down at his boxers. “Oh, man,” he mumbled.

“Don’t sweat it, Ken. Whatcha doing up so late, anyway? Are you just getting home yourself?”

Hutch was grateful to have somebody else around, even if it was someone he barely knew. He really didn’t want to be alone right then, and the thought of going back to sleep to face another nightmare was out of the question. “No, I got in a few hours ago, but I couldn’t sleep, so here I am. Are you just getting off?”

“Yeah, and it’s about time. It’s been a long day, I should’ve been home hours ago, but being a civil servant…you know how that goes.”

“I sure do. Hey, uh, Tom, would you like to come in for a beer or something? I mean, we live all of ten feet apart and we hardly even know each other.”

“I’d love to, but I can barely keep my eyes open. I’d only fall asleep on you.”

Right now, I’d even welcome that.

“Besides, me and the guys managed to make it to Huggy’s for a few before last call. I just want to take a shower and crawl under the covers. You’re right, we should get to know each other better, though. I’ll take a rain check on that beer.” Tom opened his apartment door and stuck his keys back into his pants pocket. “It was nice talking to you, Ken. Have a good night; try to get some sleep.”

“‘Night, Tom.”

Tom closed his door, and Hutch looked down at the floor, feeling slightly dejected. He looked back into his apartment. I have to go back in there…alone? “Get a grip, Hutchinson. Nobody is in there except for the plants and your rear end.”

Hutch backed his way into his apartment and slowly closed his door. “Well, now that I made a total ass of myself, my night is complete. What more can I ask?” he complained, as he plopped back down on the sofa. He placed the Python on the coffee table, grabbed his beer and the remote, then resumed watching the strange-looking moth flapping his wings to create hurricanes. “Man alive, what does Starsky see in these movies?”

_*_*_*_

He was back in the chair again, barely clinging to consciousness, waiting for the next round of beatings to begin. I don’t know how long I can take this. They’re gonna keep going ’til I give Jeanie up. They’ll have to kill me first. I wish they would Starsky, please, where are you?

He could hear several people coming back into the room and surrounding him. He braced himself, waiting for the first blow. Instead, arms grabbed him and held him in place, while someone else untied his hands.

What the–? What’s going on?

It was when he felt the tourniquet being fastened around his upper arm that a burst of panic set in. NO! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!

He’d seen victims endure this type of torture before, but never thought it would ever happen to him. I can’t let them do this! Starsky! Please! Not this! Normally, he could put up a good fight, but this day he was too beaten down to give much resistance. He was no match for the three thugs.

Monk offered him one last out. “You got one more chance. Where is she?”

“Stuff it!” I can’t give her up; I love her.

Hutch jumped at the sting of the needle. He could feel the burning of the drug entering his vein.

God help me; they really did it. They pumped it right in. There’s horse in my veins. They really did it.

“There you go, cop. The first mile of a long, long trip. ”

Oh, no… what’s happening? My head. My body. I can’t…! can ‘t.. feel…!’ mfloating… my body.. .Starsky…Jeanie….

_*_*_*_

The ringing phone startled Hutch, and he fell off the couch and onto the floor with a thud. He thought he’d heard himself scream, but couldn’t be sure. He lay there, laboring for breath, his chilled body once again bathed in sweat mixed with beer.

At the sound of the second ring, he found the strength to reach up onto the coffee table, grab the telephone receiver, and bring it down to his ear.

“He-hello,” he gasped.

“Hutch?”

“Huh? Yeah…Starsky? Wha-what time is it?” It was only then that Hutch noticed the sunlight fighting its way through the closed blinds.

“Time to get your ass out of bed. We have an hour to get to the station unless you want Dobey to come get you.”

“Oh, uh, I’m up.”

“You better be, I’m leaving my place now, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Be ready.”

“Uh, huh. ‘Kay.”

Hutch was about to replace the receiver when he heard, “Hey, Hutch?”

“Huh?” he gasped into the phone once more.

“You okay?”

“Okay? Urn, yeah, fine, just fine.”

“You sure? You sound like you just ran a mile.”

“No, I’m fine, really. I’ll see you in twenty.” Hutch reached up to the coffee table to replace the receiver, when he noticed a stream of blood trailing up his arm.

“What the hell?” He quickly sat up to examine the damage. It didn’t take too long to realize that when he’d fallen off the couch, he had crushed the beer bottle from which he was drinking the night before, and a chunk of the glass found its way into his forearm.

“Damn it!” He closed his eyes and forced himself to take deep breaths and relax. “Easy…take it easy…slow down.”

After finally calming himself, he slowly stood up, climbed onto the sofa and over the back to avoid stepping on any of the scattered chunks of glass. He looked himself up and down, finding smaller pieces imbedded not so deeply into his arms. He plucked them out, producing only a spot of blood from each of them. It was the chunk buried deep into his forearm that was going to be a problem. He went to the kitchen and quickly wrapped a towel around his arm to slow the bleeding. “Twenty minutes to clean this mess up and get ready for work. Like that’s going to happen. I’d like to see how I’m going to explain this away.”

Leaving the broken glass on the floor, Hutch took a hasty shower and dressed for work for the most part. He was able to get his pants and shoes on, but he needed to redress his arm before he could think about getting into a shirt. He peered into the bathroom mirror, looking closely at his chin, then decided shaving would be too much trouble. “It’s not like I have a whole lot to worry about.”

He unraveled the now wet dressing, piled fresh gauze onto the still bleeding wound, and wrapped it with several layers of gauze roll. Afterward, he dampened a washcloth to wipe the blood from the rest of his arm. As he was wiping the crimson from the crook of his elbow, he noticed something he hadn’t seen in several years–track marks. Invisible to everyone else, he indeed saw the telltale signs of them. Or was he just imagining it? He froze in place, as his eyes locked on the minuscule scars. He could feel a trickle of sweat running down his face and a cold chill run through his body.

“Okay, this is crazy. I can’t let that asshole get to me. It’s only Monk. I haven’t seen the man in five years; he probably doesn’t even care where I am. I’d kick his ass if he were here, anyway.”

“Hutch!”

“Shit!”

Hutch looked up at the sound of his partner entering his apartment in his usual loud way.

“Hutch you better be rea─” Starsky froze at the sight of broken glass by the sofa and blood streaks on the coffee table. He quickly began scanning the apartment.

“Hey, Hutch! Where are you?”

“I’m right here,” came the muffled answer from behind the bathroom door.

Starsky rushed into the room and stopped in his tracks when he saw Hutch. “What the hell happened?”

Hutch smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “It was the dumbest thing, Starsk. I fell asleep on the sofa with a beer in my hand, and I rolled clean off the sofa and onto the bottle. Stupid, huh?”

“That explains why you sounded so funny this morning.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Beats having to explain that your partner was scared of the boogey man, after all.

“How bad is it?” Starsky gestured toward his friend’s wrapped arm.

“It’s still bleeding, but I think I have it under control.”

“Still bleeding? After twenty minutes? Le’me see that arm.”

Before Hutch could argue, Starsky had possession of it and began peeling away the dressing. “Starsk, I said it was fine.” Hutch tried to pull away, but Starsky only tightened his grip.

“I’ll be the judge of that, and hold still so I can see this thing.”

Hutch gave in with a heavy sigh. “I just dressed it!”

“And I’m undressing it.”

Hutch put his free hand on his hip and stared at his friend. “You sound just like my mother, you know that?”

“Hutch! There’s a hunk of glass stuck in here.”

“Well, yeah, so there is.”

“It’s as big as day.”

I was too busy looking at those damn track marks to notice. Don’t you see them, too?

Hutch shrugged. “Well, I guess, I was in too much of a hurry to get ready. I’ll take it out later.”

Never letting go of Hutch’s arm, Starsky looked up at his partner. “This has to come out now, ya know. You can’t just leave that in there. I’m gonna call Dobey and tell him I’m taking you to the emergency room.”

“No! No emergency room.” What if they ask me about those marks on my arm?

“Whad’a ya worried about? It’s nothin’. They’ll have you fixed up and ready to go in no time.”

“I said I’m not going to any emergency room,” Hutch insisted, yanking his arm away.

“Hutch, this ain’t no time to argue.” Starsky walked out of the bathroom and over to the telephone.

“Starsky! I can take this out myself.”

“You can’t just take it out yourself.”

“Well, I’m not going to the emergency room.”

“You mind telling me why not?”

They’ll see those marks on my arm, and they’ll know my dirty little secret.

Hutch shook his head and pleaded, “Not this time, Starsk, okay?”

Starsky realized something was up, but what? “Hutch, what’s going on? It’s just the emergency room. We’ve been there enough times for things much worse than a piece of glass.”

“Just…just not this time. Can we leave it at that for now?”

Starsky sighed. Whatever’s going on, you know you won’t be able to hide it from me. “Well, if you’re not going to the emergency room, then how do you propose we get that piece of glass out of your arm?”

Hutch stared at Starsky for a long moment, as if trying to figure out what to say next. “You take it out.” He fmally answered, but it came out more like a plea.

“Me? You trust me to take it out?”

“I trusted you to take that splinter out of my ass, why not this?”

“You might need stitches, and you know I can’t do that.”

Hutch looked down at his arm. “It’s not that bad.”

“I think you need your eyes checked.” Starsky pulled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get this going. Dr. Starsky’s on the case again.”

_*_*_*_

The two men sat at the kitchen table–Hutch with his arm outstretched, looking on, while Starsky, using a pair of tweezers, carefully worked at grasping the glass. In Starsky’s other hand was a wad of gauze he used to dab at the blood seeping from the wound.

“You know, Hutch, I’m getting pretty good at this sort of thing. Maybe I missed my calling, after all. Ya think so?”

Hutch let out a laugh. You always know what to say to break up a tense moment. “Well, you haven’t killed me yet, although I think the last time you came pretty close.”

“You’da been the first person to die from a splinter in the butt; however, it would’ve been my claim to fame.”

Hutch laughed again.

Starsky cleared his throat and assumed a more serious tone. “Okay, Hutch, I think I got it. It’s gonna hurt like hell but only for a sec. Ready?”

Hutch closed his eyes and nodded. He let out a short yelp when Starsky extracted the chunk of glass from his forearm.

“You can open your eyes now. It’s all over.” Starsky held the glass triumphantly within the tweezers’ grasp and covered the now oozing wound with gauze.”

Hutch looked at the glass and let out a sigh of relief. “That wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it’d be.”

Starsky laid the tweezers aside and began redressing Hutch’s arm. He smiled. “Either I’m getting better at this, or you’re just getting used to me.”

“A little of both perhaps.” Hutch watched as Starsky wiped the remaining blood from around the fresh bandage. His mood suddenly became more paranoid. “Are they really noticeable?”

Starsky looked up. “Are what noticeable?”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “You know. You’re staring right at them.” He acted as if the signs should be obvious.

Starsky looked at the arm, then back up at Hutch with narrowed, confused eyes. “Staring at what? Your cut? Of course, I can see it, dummy,” he responded, incredulous. “Just keep your sleeve down and nobody else will.”

“Not that-them!” Hutch gestured toward the antecubital space with his chin.

“What’s wrong with your elbow? Did ya hurt that, too?”

“No, Starsky, I’m talking about my scars.”

Starsky looked closer. “Your scars? What scars? From what–?” Starsky stared at Hutch for a long moment, then looked back down at the elbow, then back up at Hutch.

“You’re not talking about from the needles, are you?”

“Well, what else would I be talking about? Can’t you see them? There, right there.” Hutch’s voice rose slightly, as he pointed to the spot in question.

“Hutch, there isn’t anything there.”

Hutch pulled his arm away. “Fine. Forget it; let’s just go.” He rose from his chair and walked into the bedroom in search of a shirt. Starsky wasted no time following him.

“Hutch, you’re not letting Monk get to you, are you? I mean, I know it sucks that he’s out of jail, but it’s only Monk, you know? It’s not like he was calling the shots. The man who did will never walk the streets again.”

Hutch pulled a shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. Maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this. “I know,” he answered softly, and nodded slightly in agreement. “I just need to get over it, and I will. I promise you that. That guy isn’t going to get the best of me.” Again.

“Now, that’s what I like to hear.” Starsky put his arm proudly around Hutch’s shoulders as they headed for the door.

Hutch held up his arm. “Thanks for taking care of this, buddy.”

“Anytime, Hutch, but you know I may have to start charging you for my professional services,” Starsky quipped.

“How about I buy lunch today? Would that be payment enough?”

“Where? At one of your rabbit food stores?” Starsky frowned.

“I was thinking more along the line of Huggy’s.”

Starsky pulled Hutch closer. “I knew you loved me, Hutch.” Both men laughed as they walked out the door.

_*_*_*_

All detectives involved in the heroin drug bust were sitting in the evidence room, taking inventory of the drugs and money confiscated from the dealers. There was more contraband found than expected. The cars driven by the dealers and buyers were confiscated, and additional drugs and money were found hidden behind one of the door panels and under a false floorboard. The detectives surmised the sellers were probably making multiple drops that night and they were just lucky enough to have interrupted the first one.

Hundreds of tiny, deflated water balloons of all colors, tightly packed with tar heroin, scattered

the table. Each color seemed to signify a specific quantity. A small tiger silhouette printed on each balloon signified the dealer’s logo, a common practice among the major players.

“This is going to take all day,” Starsky complained.

Hutch, who sat directly across from his partner, suggested to the entire room, “How about we just make color-coded piles of balloons, and each team will take a color, weigh it and document what they have. When we’re done, we’ll add up our findings; we should be finished by lunchtime. What do you all think?”

“I think that’s a fine idea, Ollie,” Starsky answered.

_*_*_*_

If it weren’t for the sounds of shuffling papers and tiny packages of heroin being handled, there would have been dead silence in the small, dimly lit room. Coke bottles and coffee cups littered the table, while everyone was intent on getting the job done as quickly as possible. Hutch had several little red balloons sitting on a balance. After making the proper adjustments, he noted the weight. He cleared the scale, packaged the inventoried drugs, set them aside, and proceeded to count the next pile of balloons. Five…six…seven…eight. Something made him unexpectedly stop cold. He carefully picked up the ninth balloon, which, like the others, was only about the size of a pearl onion. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger and studied it closely. You’re a powerful little monster, you know that? Nobody’s safe in your grip. It doesn’t matter who they are or where they come from.

Suddenly, he was back in that bed, and Monk held all that mattered to him in a small syringe. Then it was pure heaven. He would just have to lie there while Monk fed that golden dream into his waiting vein. It would take only moments before the wave of euphoria would invade his brain and take over his mind. He’d forgiven his captors for taking him from his apartment and torturing him for hours–just as long as they kept feeding him. Nothing mattered anymore, the world was sweet, this was sweet, and he needed nothing more from life.

Then it stopped. The pleasure was gone. Somebody turned off his life support, and now he was dying. “Where’s my stuff? I need my stuff. Help, give me some help! Somebody, please! “There was no more euphoria, no more heaven. Cold, hard hell arrived in its place and had taken over his beautiful life. His body felt as if it were incased in ice, even as the sweat seeped from every pore. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so cold. It didn’t stop him from pulling at his sleeve and pleading with his captors, “Stuff, gimme some stuff, please?”

“Looka’ him, Monk, he’s beggin’ for it.”

“Give him a little more time, then we’ll call Forest.”

Hutch fell into a fetal position on the bed, shivering beyond control, holding his stomach, and

feeling as though somebody had kicked it a dozen times. His head wanted to explode; every muscle in his body spasmed inside of him. He lurched forward and emptied his stomach onto the linen. Life couldn’t get any worse–he’d welcome death if it offered itself. Funny how the meaning of life could change in an instant.

Several helpless minutes went by before rough hands suddenly grabbed at him again, hauling him to his feet. “Gonna give me some help? Gonna help me?” He remained hopeful that someone would turn the life support back on, even when they forced him to straddle a chair. He clung to the back of it, drained of energy, gulping for air and looking around for somebody to help him. He remembered a bright flashlight beaming into his face, increasing the throbbing in his head A slap in the face. Crawling…he was crawling after someone. Hutch needed him. He needed the man with the syringe, the one who could make all his misery disappear with one sweet push. He’d do anything for one more hit. Nothing was beyond what he’d do for them, just as long as they gave him what he needed

“Hutch?”

Hutch looked up at Starsky, who was staring at him with concern. He was relieved to be pulled out of that place.

“You okay?”

“Huh, uh.” He looked at the balloon between his fingers, then threw it onto the table. “Urn, I think I need some more coffee.” Hutch used his sleeve to wipe at the stream of sweat running down the side of his face, before pushing his chair away from the table.

Starsky followed him to a small table in the corner of the room where a fresh pot of coffee brewed.

“Hey, partner, you were a million miles away back there. Wanna tell me about your trip?”

Hutch shook his head. You don’t want to know about my “trip.”

“Uh, it’s just…there’s a lot of heroin there, ya know? Makes me think how many people are still trapped. ”

Hutch, sprinkled an unusual amount of creamer into his coffee, then turned the sugar jar upside down, sending a seemingly unending stream into his hot beverage. He stirred it then sipped at it, unsatisfied, he turned the jar over again for a few more seconds.

Starsky just watched. “Did ya suddenly get tired of black coffee?”

“I didn’t know I needed your permission to change my habits,” Hutch snapped. He grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the door.

“Hey, Hutch, where you going? We’re not finished in here,” Starsky demanded, following him out of the squadroom and down the corridor. They stopped at the candy machine.

“I’m not running away, Starsky, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just wanted a breather if you must know.” Hutch placed his coffee on top of the candy machine and fished around in his pockets for change.

Starsky, with his hands on his hips and finally annoyed, spouted, “I’d like to know what’s with your sudden attitude. I don’t think I’ve done anything to you, but you’re kinda quick to take a bite out of my ass anyway. What the hell’s going on?”

Hutch froze then bowed his head and took in a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what happened in there. One minute I was counting those balloons–something I’ve done hundreds of times before–then the next thing I knew… was thinking about…” He sighed. “I just got off track in there for a while.” He counted the few coins in his hand. “Got a dime?”

Starsky pulled two nickels from his pocket and gave them to Hutch. “It seems you got a little more than off track. You were completely on another planet back there.”

Hutch pulled the lever on the candy machine and retrieved a Snickers bar from the chute.

“Snickers bar, Hutch? Something wrong with your usual sunflower seeds?”

“Gee, Mom, I promise to eat my broccoli tonight.” Just let me enjoy my sugar fix and I’ll be fine.

“Just see that you do.” ‘Cause you’re beginning to scare me.

“Look, Starsky, I didn’t mean to go off on you.” Hutch found himself staring at his own shoes. He bit into his candy bar and washed it down with his overly sweetened coffee.

“Oh, we’re almost done in there, would you mind terribly finishing up for me? I can go back to the office and work on that report in the meantime. I really don’t want to go back in there, Starsk.”

Finally getting it, Starsky gripped his partner’s shoulders. “Hey, Hutch.” His voice was soft. Hutch looked up into his eyes. “You’re not taking this Monk thing too well, are you?”

A slight shake of the head. “No.” It came out in a whisper.

“Talk to me about it, huh?”

Hutch briefly looked down and nodded, then back up. “Not now. Later. Okay?” he pleaded.

“All right, but don’t take too long. You’re my pal, and when you have problems, I have problems.”

Hutch produced a slight smile before nodding. “Okay.”

Starsky patted him on the shoulder before releasing his grip. “Go get that paperwork done. I’ll meet you out here in a little while, then it’s off to Huggy’s, where you get the pleasure of buying me the Bear’s famous artery clogging, cholesterol raising, double bacon cheeseburger, with the works piled high.”

Hutch rolled his eyes, but was glad for the change in conversation. “And French fries, too, I imagine?”

“Nope. Big, fat, beer battered-dipped, deep-fried onion rings. They hold more grease.”

Hutch gripped his stomach and laughed. “Talk like that’s gonna give me indigestion.”

“Then bring the Rolaids, buddy, ’cause I’m going at it with both guns blazing–I’m starving,” Starsky called over his shoulder, as he headed back to the evidence room.

Thanks for the laugh, buddy. You always know when I need it.

._*_*_*_

Starsky and Hutch sat at a round table in the corner of The Pits’ busy restaurant, hoping to have a peaceful lunch together. Their moods were upbeat since they’d gotten permission from Captain Dobey to take the rest of the day off, once they’d finished the reports on the drug case in time for the DA to review. They both smiled when they spotted their friend and confidant, Huggy Bear, walking with his regular cheerful gait toward their table. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the dynamic duo gracing me once more with their undying presence.” Huggy gave a mock bow. “To what do I owe this pleasure mi amigos?”

“It’s high time you got rid of that eye-blinding yellow shirt, Hug.” Starsky put on Hutch’s sunglasses to reinforce his statement. Hutch shaded his eyes from the glare.

“A bright shirt to go with the bright, cheery atmosphere of my fine establishment. Now, which of my many services can I bestow upon you gentlemen?”

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other and smiled at their friend’s unusual charm. Starsky peeled off the glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “I’ll have your special grease burger deluxe, with onion rings and a large Coke, Hug. And bring Blondie the bill.”

“That’s one Huggy special. And what will your better half have?”

Hutch held up two fingers. “Make that two Huggy specials. And hold the ice in my Coke.”

Starsky’s and Huggy’s eyes widened in surprise. Hutch looked back and forth between the two men and spread his arms apart. “What? Something wrong?” he asked, slightly annoyed.

Starsky shrugged innocently. “Nothing’s wrong, Hutch.”

“Hey, if it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me. Is that okay?”

“He’s the man paying the tab,” Huggy chimed in. “If it’s a grease burger he wants, it’s a grease burger he gets. Be back in a jiff, fellas.” Huggy turned and left

Hutch looked up to find Starsky with his eyes trained on him. “Is there something wrong, Starsk?”

Starsky leaned forward, wide-eyed. “Is there something wrong? No, not really. I only want to know who you are, and what you did with the real Hutch. ‘Cause the Hutch I know would’ve ordered a chef salad, or a seaweed sandwich, or butterfly bones, but not what you just ordered. I thought you were on another one of your latest no-cal, no-fat, no-taste, fad diets. The Hutch I know wouldn’t’ve dumped a ton of sugar in his coffee and used it to wash down a million-calorie candy bar. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve always drunk your coffee black.”

“Because I throw a little curve into my diet every so often, you make it sound like I’ve committed some sort of crime. It’s not like I’ve never eaten anything with grease on it before.”

“That’s not a curve, Hutch, it’s a jagged zig-zag. Your curves usually involve an occasional donut, or you stealing my French fries, but not this. I just want to know what’s going on with you all of a sudden. Is that too much to ask? Excuse me for being concerned; you’re only my best friend. I happen to care about your well being.”

Hutch propped his elbows on the table, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Look, Starsk, I appreciate your concern, but could we please drop it for now? I said I’d talk about it, but not yet. It’s been a long morning; let’s just enjoy our lunch.”

Starsky sighed. “Okay, but this isn’t over, Hutch.

“Fine.” Hutch continued massaging his temples.

“You have a headache?”

A slight nod. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Something like that? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s more like a sugar rush.”

Starsky laughed. “There goes your curve. Maybe if you ran around the block twenty or thirty times, you might get rid of it.”

“I couldn’t go one block right now without falling on my face. These past few weeks about killed me.”

Huggy returned to the table with their orders and plopped the plates in front of them. “Here you go, fellas. Enjoy.” Huggy waved his arms toward the crowded restaurant. “I’d love to stay and grace you with my presence, but my fans are waiting. Give a whistle if you need anything else.”

“Thanks, Hug,” both guys answered in unison, and Huggy made a quick departure.

Eager to move the conversation in another direction, Hutch looked up at Starsky.

“So, what do you think about this heroin case?”

Starsky was dousing his burger with a heavy dose of ketchup, and he left a puddle on the side of the plate for dipping. “Well, I think we lucked out having this case literally tossed in our laps, and we were lucky with the sizable stash we got from it.” Starsky took an onion ring, dipped it into the ketchup, and shoved it in his mouth. “But I don’t think we got the guys we really want.” He washed it down with a sip of Coke.

He couldn’t help but notice Hutch sprinkling a heavy amount of salt on his burger and onion rings, then grab for the ketchup. He had to fight his inclination to back Hutch into a comer and not let him out until he talked to him, but he knew that wasn’t the way. Hutch would have to come out on his own. That was his way.

“I hope you left some of this stuff for me,” Hutch commented, before repeating Starsky’s food drowning ritual. “You think there’s bigger fish involved with this?”

“There’s always bigger fish involved. The big boys don’t deliver their own stuff.”

“But they’re known for buying their own stuff,” Hutch finished. “So what’s our next move, then?”

Starsky took a huge bite from his burger; it took a few moments before he could come up for air. “Well, we talk to the DA and see if we can work on getting these guys to tell us something.” He drank more of his Coke before continuing. “Having all four spill their guts would be great, but right now I’d settle for one.”

“One’s all we need. But which one?” Hutch asked before attacking his own burger.

“There’s that sixteen-year-old, Robert Gratz. He’s facing big time. This ain’t like selling a little pot; he’s gonna be going away to Juvie for a long while. I think if we work him, we can scare him enough to give us a name or two.”

“Well, if anything, he could give us someone above him, then we’ll go bust the higher up and get him to talk. Sooner or later, someone’s going to lead us to the top of the food chain.”

“Spoken like a true detective.” Starsky dipped another onion ring and shoved it in his mouth.”

Hutch leaned over the table. “I really want this guy, Starsk.” There was obvious intent in his statement. “He’s out there making millions, while destroying God knows how many lives. It’s not fair, Starsky! We need to nail him.”

Starsky nodded. “We will, Hutch. We’ll get our guy, just like we always do.”

“Damn straight we will. I’ll work day and night to get him–or them.”

“Okay, but not tomorrow. We finally got an entire day off, and I think we both need it.”

Hutch nodded in agreement. “You’re looking really worn down, Starsky. I was afraid you might be coming down with something. How’re you feeling, anyway?”

“Just like you said, worn down, but nothing some RandR couldn’t fix.”

“Yeah, same here.”

“I think I’m going to go rent a few creepy crawly movies and spend the afternoon on my couch, watching them until I pass out.”

“Oh, yeah, you got that new movie player whatcha-call-it, didn’t you?”

“It’s a beta max, and it’s the best invention since the audio cassette.” Starsky smiled in fondness at his latest gadget. “You ought to come over and check it out.”

Hutch shrugged. “I’d love to, but I’m not spending this afternoon watching some monster terrorize Japan.” I did that last night.

“Your loss.” I’m glad to see you’ve retained a little of your old self. “So, what are you going to do with your afternoon off?”

“We’ve been working so dam much, I haven’t had much chance to take care of the plants. I’ll probably spend the rest of the day in the greenhouse watering, fertilizing and pruning, that sort of stuff.”

“You think they overtook the place by now?”

Hutch laughed. “Probably. Especially that spider plant.”

Starsky leaned over toward Hutch. “Well, if I don’t hear from you by tomorrow, I’ll assume they got you.” He then threw a wink his way.

Hutch’s laugh grew louder. “Thanks, buddy.” I mean it.

“Just be sure you get a good rest, Hutch. You’re really looking worn down.”

“I will.”

_*_*_*_

Hutch staggered down the dirty alley, desperate to elude his captors. He hadn’t known they’d already given up the chase after spotting the police cruiser on the corner. Monk couldn’t afford to call attention to himself, so he had taken off to contemplate his next move.

The brief burst of energy Hutch had used to escape drained him of what little strength he had No longer able to hold him up, his knees buckled underneath him. I can’t…/ can’t make… it. With no other choice, he retreated into an alley and allowed his body to collapse onto the dirt, certain it wouldn’t be long before his captors caught him again. He heard footsteps running toward him. The world around him was a mere blob. He didn’t know if it was day or night, where he was, or who was coming. All he knew was he was hurting–bad–and needed a fix, now. Maybe whoever it was would give him what he needed

He could vaguely feel someone kneeling over him with their hand on his arm. “Hutchinson? That you?” He was crashing hard, and all he could do was gulp for air as he rocked back and forth hoping to ease his agony. “Hold on. We’re gonna get you some help. ”

Help? Gonna get me help?

He barely heard the rumbling of the car racing down the alley and screeching to a halt right at his feet.

“Hutch, you cra–?” Somebody else was grabbing him and pulling him up, a gentle hand was now on his face. What did he want? God, please don’t hurt me anymore.

“He’s your partner, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Partner? My partner? My partner? He’ll get me some stuff.

Hutch stared into the midnight blue eyes, knowing he should recognize them. Slowly the blur in his mind began coming together. Starsky? He felt his shirt sleeve being pulled up.

Gonna give me medicine?

“My God! He’s a junkie.”

No! I’m not. Starsky, help. They’re gonna get me! Scared out of his mind, Hutch clamored himself into Starsky’s lap, desperate for someone to protect him from his hell. Don’t let them get me, Starsky. Hurts! This hurts!

After four helpless days of being blindfolded and tortured, a part of him desperately needed someone to comfort him and to be on his side for once; the rest of him, of course, was in bad need of a fix. The strong hands that secured him in place and rubbed his back were more comforting than he could ever remember. For the moment, it eased the pain in his gut.

“Shut up, huh? I’ll handle it. ”

He’ll handle it. He’ll get me some help. He’ll get me the stuff.

“I gotta make a report.”

The soothing hand left his back, and the pain returned, forcing a desperate groan to escape

“No reports. This didn’t happen, Bernie, understand? This didn’t happen. I’ll take full responsibility.” The hand returned, but this time he was being pulled to his feet. No, I want to lay here. Take care of me here. He had no strength to resist; he could only allow Starsky to make his decisions.

_*_*_*_

Hutch was curled up in the front seat of the Torino with his head on Starsky’s lap. A soothing hand remained in contact with him the entire trip. His shivering body constantly rocked back and

forth, begging for relief from its hell. “Just take it easy, Hutch, we’re gonna get you some help.” Starsky found out long ago that gently massaging just under Hutch’ s jaw line was the most effective way to calm him when he was upset or stressed Thankfully, it seemed to be working to some extent now.

“Starsk, gimme…gimme some help.”

“We’re almost there, boy, just hang on.”

A painful onset of nausea grew in Hutch’s stomach and rose up to his throat. “Gonna be sick.” The car came to a sudden stop, thrusting Hutch’s body into the dashboard

Hutch’s eyes snapped open. He jumped from the lounge chair and hurried out of his greenhouse in a desperate rush to the bathroom. He fell to his knees and heaved everything he’d eaten that day into the toilet. He coughed and gagged and continued vomiting until all he had left to purge was yellow stomach acid and green bile. Even then his stomach continued to rebel.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless attack on his body, he flushed the toilet and slumped, breathless, against the bathtub. He drew his knees up to his chest, rested his elbows on them, and held his head in his hands. He stayed in that position for several minutes, trying to catch his breath. His hair clung to his forehead, a sheen of sweat covered his face and neck, and he could feel more trickling down his chest and back, but he couldn’t shake the chill from his trembling body.

“God, my head’s killing me.” He slowly rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. “This whole thing isn’t getting better, only worse.” He could’ve sworn he heard Starsky’s voice telling him, You just going to sit there and let it get you, Blondie? That’s not the Hutch I know. Shake it off and get movin’, boy.

“I have to do something. But what?” Hutch looked at his watch. “Ten o’clock. Starsky’s probably knocked out on the sofa. I can’t wake him, but I can’t stay here.” Finally, he gathered enough strength to climb to his feet and make it to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face, then swallowed some aspirin, hoping he could keep it down. He then brushed his teeth and combed his hair. “I’ll be damned if you’re going to get me a second time, Monk!”

_*_*_*_

Hutch leaned against the crowded bar in The Pits, waiting for its owner to find a few minutes for him. “Well, if it isn’t the blond half of the best team this side of the Golden Gate.” Hutch turned around to see Huggy standing behind him. “Where’s your darker half, or is it a lady you have tonight?”

Hutch held open his arms. “What you see it what you get.”

Huggy looked him up and down then shook his head, disapproving of what he saw. “What I see is lookin’ like somethin’ the cat dragged in. As a matter of fact, you’re looking paler than normal. One of them days?”

Hutch wiped the back of his hand under his dampened chin. “One of those months.”

“So did you come here to drown your sorrows over something…or someone?” Huggy smirked.

“I came here to see you.”

“You’re kinda cute yourself, sweets, but unfortunately, I’m already taken–by about a half dozen lovelies of the female persuasion. But leave your number anyway; you might get lucky.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Cut the crap, Hug. I really need your help.”

Huggy chuckled then cleared his throat. “Sure thing. What it is, m’man?” Huggy leaned over the bar. “Hey, Diane, bring my man here a beer.”

Hutch’s face soured as he held his hand to his stomach. “Oh, no thanks, Hug, I had my fill for tonight. I just need to talk to you.”

Huggy waved Diane off. “Okay, shoot. What can the Bear do for you?”

“Can we go someplace a little less busy?”

“Your wish is my command.”

Hutch followed Huggy to the back storage room and closed the door behind them.

“Listen, Hug, I need you to do something for me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you guys, but what?”

“Not for us–for me. Got it?”

“You’re the boss.”

Hutch pulled out a pen and piece of paper, then scrawled down a name and address. “I need you to find out where this guy is and what he’s up to. He was recently paroled and he may still be living at this address, but I want to be sure.”

“You can’t find this out through the parole department?”

“We can only look these things up on a need-to-know basis. Not that I’m above getting the info that way in have to, but I’d rather go this route first. I can’t afford to have anyone asking questions. Can you help me?” Hutch handed Huggy the slip of paper, then zipped up his jacket to ward off the cold going straight to his bones. The aspirin he’d taken earlier was doing little to ease the jack-hammering in his head.”

Huggy looked at the paper Hutch handed him. “Allen Phylos? Do I know him?”

Hutch nodded slightly. “Yeah,” he softly answered. “Alias, Monk.”

“Monk? As in Ben Forest’s man?”

“Yeah, that’s him. His last known address was 915 Merchamer Street, but I don’t know if he’s still there. Hutch removed a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his forehead and face. Huggy pretended not to notice his trembling hands.

“I just drove by the place a little while ago and there’s a car in the driveway, but the lights were out. His neighbors were having some sort of patio party, so I couldn’t get close enough to get the license plate number without drawing attention. Can you find out if he’s back at that house?”

Huggy looked at the paper. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Come back in a day or two, and I should have an answer.”

“Thank, Hug. I knew I could count on you.” Hutch turned to open the door but stopped and turned around. “Oh, one more thing, Hug. Do you still own that old bar?”

“Sure do; been renting it out. Right now it’s a barber shop. Who knows what it’ll be next week? The tenants come and go on a regular basis.”

“Can you lend me the key to that old room upstairs?”

“What? What do you want that for? You haven’t been up there since–”

“I know. Please, don’t ask right now. Will you please lend me that key?”

Huggy sighed, then dug into his pocket, pulled out a key ring, selected a key, and pulled it off. “Here you go, enjoy.”

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow, okay?”

Huggy shrugged. “Bring it back whenever. That room’s been vacant since I moved out. If you ask me, you should go home and get back into bed and sleep off whatever’s ailing you. Maybe a bowl of my mustard green soup will put you back on your feet.

Hutch winced. “Huggy, right now I don’t think I could hold down a glass of water, but thanks for your concern and the key.” Hutch patted Huggy on the shoulder then turned and left.

_*_*_*_

Hutch slowly climbed the external stairway from the alley that led him up to the second floor of what used to be Huggy’s Bar and Grill. The electricity on the vacant floor had been turned off, so his department-issued flashlight was all he had to guide him. Slowly and cautiously, he made his way to the room he and Starsky had once occupied for three of what he considered the longest days of his life. Since then, he’d done everything to avoid that place–the memories were too painful, and to some extent embarrassing, for him to relive. He’d revealed to Starsky how glad he was when Huggy moved–now he wouldn’t have any reason to have to go there. Tonight, he felt if he was going to stop those nightmares, he first had to face his past again. This was merely something he remembered from a Psychology 101 class he had taken eons ago.

After unlocking the door, he slowly pushed it open, cautious as to what might be hiding behind it. Get a grip, Hutchinson; there’s no one in there bigger than a spider. He pushed the door with a little more force, swinging it back on its hinges, until the doorknob hit the back wall. Hutch stood outside shining his light into the room, willing himself the strength to walk in. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, then, without further hesitation, stepped into the room. Maybe when his bravado grew, he’d come back during the daylight hours, but for now, he was thankful he didn’t have to see the place in full light. From what the flashlight allowed him to see, the room looked exactly as it did when he was last there; even the original furniture remained. The only difference was the old musty smell that now saturated the air.

Slowly walking around the room, Hutch carefully inspected each inch of the place as he passed it. It was when he stopped by the bed, that he began trembling again.

“Relax, just relax. Get a hold of yourself,” he whispered to himself. His heart slammed inside his chest; his mouth went totally dry.

“Starsky, please! Gimme something, gimme some medicine!”

“Hang on, Hutch! It’s gonna be okay, boy. I got you. You’re gonna make it. ”

“I can’t, I’m gonna die! Please, you gotta help me!”

“You’re not going to die, Hutch, you’re going to live!”

The room began swirling around him, as the memories of those three days came rushing back. He held his fingers to his temple and backed away from the bed, as if he were backing away from the memories. He hit the far comer of the room and allowed himself to slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his hands never leaving his head. The room suddenly felt like the inside of a meat locker. Hutch crossed his arms tightly across his chest to help fight the invading chill. He closed his eyes, and–just like being in a time machine–he was transformed back five years. He remembered lying in that bed, clinging desperately to his best friend. Never in his life had he hurt so much; even suffering from the plague hadn’t been as bad. Starsky had stayed on the bed with him the entire time–holding him, talking to him, rocking him.

“I got you, Hutch. I’m right here, boy, ” Starsky would tell him, as he massaged his muscles in an attempt to keep him warm. Hutch’s fingers would bury themselves into his best friend’s arms and legs whenever a surge of spasms would course through his body. His brain was demanding heroin and wasn’t taking no for an answer, it was trying everything in its power to get him to go out and find that delicious drug. Hutch was too fixated on the pain and cravings to notice the groans coming from Starsky, yet his partner never complained or tried to stop him. Starsky was there, helping him with his endless trips to the bathroom every time nausea would take over, then he’d clean him up afterwards. Sometimes he couldn’t get Hutch to the commode fast enough, but still never lost his patience. Starsky would just mop up the mess and assure Hutch that everything was going to be fine.

Hutch remembered being so ice cold that first night, no amount of blankets could warm him. Starsky finally crawled under the blankets and firmly wrapped his body around him, providing his own body heat to keep him warm. Close your eyes and go to sleep, Hutch. That’s it, that’s it, boy. That was just about the only thing that allowed Hutch to sleep those few hours that first night.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m gonna stay right here with you. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You just go to sleep, and I’ll be right here.”

Hutch slept restlessly that night, waking every few hours screaming from demon-filled nightmares. After Starsky convinced him he was only dreaming, the cravings and spasms would start again, usually resulting in at least one trip to the bathroom. It made for a long night.

_*_*_*_

The next day was a different story. Hutch was so intent on getting out of that apartment, much of the day was spent wrestling with each other.

“Let me the hell out of here, Starsky! Get out of my way!”

“Going someplace, Hutch?”

“None of your damn business! Get away from the door before I move you myself! ”

Starsky would stand at the door with his arms folded as calm as ever and shake his head “Can’t do that, buddy, ” he’d calmly explain.

Hutch jabbed his finger at Starsky. “You are such an asshole! You know that? If I want a fix, who the hell are you to stop me?

“I’m your best friend, that’s who I am.”

“You/re not my friend, you’re nothing but a damn street punk!” Hutch spat in his face.

Starsky never flinched “But you love me anyway.” he said with a smirk.

“Oh, fuck you!” Hutch made a lunge for the door.

A struggle would ensue, with Hutch trying to escape, and Starsky holding him back. Fortunately for Starsky, Hutch was so weak he’d never had a chance.

After their brief struggle, a drained Hutch could do nothing more than allow Starsky to lead him back to the bed where he’d fall asleep for a few hours. All the while, Starsky never lost his patience. He knew the drill–wrestle a little, sleep a lot.

There was one exception. Hutch, in his desperation to get out and find more heroin, launched an unexpected attack on his friend. He grabbed hold of Starsky and shoved him with such force, he fell over the stuffed chair sitting by the bed and landed hard, face down. With his nerves and patience already frayed, Starsky finally snapped.

Hutch had made it to the door and, after struggling with the lock, finally opened it, then bolted

from the room. He was halfway down the staircase when a hand gripped his shirt collar and angrily yanked him back up the stairs. He was momentarily stunned when his feet went out from under him and he landed on his back.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” The voice was no longer friendly; the patience was long gone.

“Let me go, Starsky!” Hutch screamed through clenched teeth, as he struggled to free himself from the strong grip.

“You think you’re going somewhere? Get your ass up here before I kick it all over Bay City!”

Hutch felt himself being pulled up onto his feet and yanked up the steps, one at a time. “Let go of me, Starsky! You no good son of a bitch, you don’t understand, I gotta get some help!”

Starsky ignored him and just continued to drag him back to the room. Hutch’s arms flailed in

front of him, but could do nothing to stop his forceful ascent. He and Starsky wrestled their way back into the room, and the ruckus could be heard throughout the restaurant. Hutch was so desperate for a fix, he wasn’t losing stamina as quickly this time. He was going to do whatever it took to get back on the streets.

Once in the room, he finally broke free of Starsky’s grip, shoved him away again, and made another run for the door. He almost made his way out, when a set of very strong hands grabbed him from behind, stopping him. Then the arms wrapped themselves around him in a tight bear hug.

“God damn it, Hutch, I’m not in the mood for this!” Starsky grunted, as he spun Hutch around and heaved him back into the room.

Finally, Hutch had felt his own strength slowly drain from him, but he still had some fight left.

“Get your damn hands the hell off me!” he spat.

Starsky had kicked the door closed and forced Hutch face down on the bed. “The hell I will! You’re not going anywhere, you hear me?” Starsky climbed on top of Hutch then stuck a knee into his back. Out of desperation, to keep his friend from leaving, and partially from finally losing his temper, he’d removed his handcuffs from his back pocket and clamped them around one of Hutch’s wrists, then grabbed for the other one.

“Starsk! No! Please…please, no!” Hutch pleaded.

Starsky secured both hands together. “You happy now? Is this what you want, Hutch? You can stay that way until you come to your damn senses, because I refuse to put up with any more of your shit!” Starsky screamed into his ear.

Starsky jumped off the bed and paced the floor with his hands on his hips, huffing and puffing, trying to burn off his anger.

“Please, Starsky, don’t do this to me,” Hutch begged.

It was when Starsky looked back up at Hutch and saw the wide, helpless look in his partner’s eyes that his anger instantly dissolved. He knew he was seeing the real Hutch fighting to come out.

Oh, my God, Hutch, what did I–? He ran over to his bound friend, quickly retrieved his handcuff key from his own pocket, and wasted no time unlocking the steel braces. Hutch’s arms fell lifelessly onto the bed.

“I’m sorry, Hutch, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he repeated over and over again.

Hutch could hear the cuffs being tossed across the room and landing in a heap. By this time he was so devoid of energy, he could only lie across the bed like a rag doll.

“This is how they treated you when they had you, isn’t it? They kept your hands tied, just like I did. I’m sorry, Hutch, I swear I’ll never do that to you again. That was stupid, so damn stupid. ”

Starsky pulled Hutch into his lap and held him tight, rocking him back and forth. “This ain’t your fault, buddy. You can’t help what they did to you.”

Hutch lay bonelessly across Starsky’s lap–the security of those arms holding him felt so good. He vaguely remembered feeling the warmth of Star sky’s lips on his forehead. Starsky continued the soothing words into his ear.

“I’m sorry, Starsky. I’m trying, I really am. It’s so hard, I’m sorry, ” he whispered wearily.

“It’s not your fault, babe, it’s not your fault. We’re gonna be all right, we’re gonna get through this together. You just wait and see, we’re gonna be just fine. You’ll be back on your feet in no time. It’ll be just like old times.

“This is never going to stop, Starsk ” Hutch groaned.

“It will, Hutch, I promise you. Don’t you give up. We’re going to win this one–together–just like we always do. ”

“I’m so tired.”

“It’s okay, Hutch, you just relax, okay? I’m gonna be right here with you, buddy. Hutch could feel Starsky’s arms tighten around him. The last thing he remembered was gentle fingers massaging up and down his jaw. It felt so good.

Hutch sat against the wall, trembling as the memories rushed back all too clearly. “Why did this have to happen to me? Damn you, Forest. You, too, Monk! Damn you both to hell!”

Hutch took a clean handkerchief from his jacket and wiped his face dry. He could feel the sweat pouring out of his body, but now he couldn’t tell if he was hot or cold. I can’t stay here. I can’t, I can’t do this by myself anymore. He rose to his feet and ran out of the room and down the back stairway. He then jumped into his car and took off.

_*_*_*_

Starsky woke to find himself stretched out on his own sofa. The television was the only thing illuminating his darkened apartment. The movie playing on his beta machine was long over, and snow now filled the screen.

“Oh, yeah–‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’–I missed it,” he groaned wearily. He struggled to sit up, planted his feet on the floor, and rubbed at his eyes. He grabbed his watch from the coffee table and held it close to his eyes. “One a.m.? How long have I been out?”

He turned off the television, got up, and staggered to the kitchen for a beer–stretching and yawning the whole way there and back. “Can’t believe how tired I am.” He took a long drag from the bottle and placed it on the coffee table, then ran his fingers through his hair several times. Oh, man, I can’t wake up. He yawned in agreement with himself.

“Been a long week, or two, or three. Hell, I can’t even remember anymore. Gotta call Hutch, but I’d only fall asleep on him. He probably crashed by now anyway. Guess it’ll have to be tomorrow.”

Starsky took one last swig of beer and placed the bottle back on the coffee table, before stretching once again. He got up and went into the bedroom, peeling off his shirt on the way. Once there, he stripped down to his briefs and climbed between the blue sheets. He was sound asleep within minutes.

A short time later, using his key, Hutch let himself into Starsky’s apartment. He scanned the living room as if Starsky would be walking around the place at this hour. Instead, he could hear his partner lightly snoring. He quietly closed the door and stuck his key into his pocket.

As he passed Starsky’s bedroom, he looked in between the bookshelves and spotted his friend sprawled out on his bed. He couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. As if I expected him to be awake at this hour.

Hutch collapsed on the sofa, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his throbbing head in his trembling hands. He fought to hold down the bile that had been threatening him ever since he went back in that room at Huggy’s old place, but he had no staying power against the weariness consuming him. After taking a moment to gather a little strength, Hutch rose to his feet, went into the bathroom, and helped himself to some antacid and aspirin.

This better work, ’cause l feel like shit. He shrugged out of his jacket on the way back to the sofa, planted himself back down, and took off his shoes. Hutch grimaced at the beer bottle sitting on the coffee table in front of him, he knew if he even smelled that stuff right then, he’d toss his cookies for sure. Without further hesitation, he stretched out on the sofa and almost immediately gave in to his fatigue.

Slumped against a decrepit, cracked and broken plastered wall inside an old abandoned house, with a leather strap tied to his upper arm, Hutch anxiously waited for Monk to take away his misery. He couldn’t remember how long it’d been since his last hit, but every desperate, screaming cell in his body told him it was far too long. He needed relief now. He couldn’t take his wide eyes off the spoon gripped between Monk’s fingers and hanging over the lit candle.

Finally cooked to perfection, Monk laid the spoon on the floor among the crumbled plaster and drew the golden liquid from the spoon into a syringe, then turned toward Hutch.

Without saying a word, he aimed the needle at the dilated vein rising up from Hutch’s antecubital space and funneled it into his shaking body. Within moments, the euphoric wave Hutch ached for presented itself at the top of his head and quickly rippled its way through the rest of him, until all his pain and worries were once again a distant memory. He allowed himself to be taken away to another world–one without pain, without worries, without any cares. This world was a blissful place that he never wanted to leave. He was floating through the Milky Way, gazing at the heavens above. “Jupiter, Jupiter, where are you? Right next to the moon, where you belong. Oh, Uranus, everyone always forgets about your beautiful rings… always too focused on Saturn.” Images of Monk loomed through the stardust. “Monk, I forgive you. All is forgiven. Just keep me in this world; don’t ever let me out. You hear me?” The feeling of invincibility also presented itself. “I could take on the world; nothing could stop me.” He felt he could jump from the highest cliff and land safely on his own two feet, and he’d gladly prove it, too, if he had the chance. “Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, I can leap tall buildings in a single bound–Superman, that’s me. No, wait, I remember now–ALA KAZAM, I’m Captain Marvel… Captain Marvel? Captain…Marvel?”

Without warning, a roll of billowy gray clouds rumbled into his world and took over the heavens. “What’s happening?” The winds began to howl, and a crack of thunder boomed into his ears. As quickly as his euphoria greeted him, it was now making its fast exit, leaving behind nothing but cold, misery and pain. “No… wait, no, not yet!”

Hutch convulsed, feeling every muscle in his body demanding more “stuff.” His skin felt as if it were on fire, but the rest of his trembling body was painfully cold, right down into his very soul. “Need more stuff. ”

He could see Monk in his three-piece, tailored suit, walking away from him toward the clouds. “Wait, Monk, come back!” Monk stopped, turned around and began laughing. He held up a syringe full of the golden liquid

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Hutch rolled up his sleeve in anticipation. “I-I need more medicine, ” he begged

“You fool, Hutchinson. Don’t you know, I always get the last laugh? Look at you; you’re apathetic mess. Why don’t you go back to the gutter where you belong?” Monk shot the liquid into the air and laughed once more, before turning around and walking farther away until he disappeared into the clouds.

“Don’t go! Monk, wait!” Hutch tried to run after him, but his body would only allow him a few feet before he stumbled to the ground. “Come back! Don’t leave me!” He tried crawling, but was far too slow to even hope to catch him. “Monk! Please, I gave you Jeanie! We had a deal! You promised!”

A new voice made him freeze.

“Hutch.”

­Who was there? The voice sounded familiar, but who? Someone was grasping his arm and leading him away from his hell.

No wait, not yet, I have to find Monk…

“Come on, Hutch.”

He continued to be guided away. The throbbing in his head was the worse kind of pain he could imagine. The sweat ran freely from his body, but he couldn’t shake the invading chill. As much as he tried to fight it, he felt himself leaving his world for that of another. The hands on his face felt soothing; they encouraged him to let this person lead him out.

“Please…help me. So…cold, I need help.” He had to leave, he needed to go back and find Monk. He fought to free himself from the arms around him.

“Hey, Hutch, come on, wake up, it’s all right. Come on, now; wake up for me, huh?” The voice was soft and calming–and familiar.

“Gotta find him.”

“You’re burning up, Hutch.”

Something cool dabbed at his forehead, working its way down his face and neck, bringing him to the edge of consciousness.

“Where am I? Who’s there?” Hutch’s eyes snapped open, and he made a half-hearted attempt to free himself from those hands, but they continued to hold him.

“Hey, Hutch, easy…take it easy. You’re at my place, remember?”

Hutch looked up to see a very concerned pair of dark blue eyes staring down at him. He lifted his head and looked around the apartment, finally remembering where he was and realizing his head was in Starsky’s lap. Still exhausted, he lowered himself back down, panting.

“Hey,” Starsky quietly commented, while wiping the sweat from his partner. “Sounded like a bad one.”

Hutch held his hands up to his throbbing forehead and gasped, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Hang on, buddy.”

Without further hesitation, Starsky sat Hutch up, wrapped an arm around him, and hurried him into the bathroom.

They made it without a second to spare. Hutch immediately fell to his knees, hugging the toilet as he heaved once again, while Starsky held onto him rubbing his back.

“Okay, Hutch, take it easy. Everything’s gonna be okay. Try and relax, I’m right here.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Hutch gagged on his words.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Let me do all the worrying.” Brave words for a man who was just as scared as Hutch. Never in my wildest dreams did I think this would start again. Starsky continued rubbing his back and supporting his friend when the vomiting turned to dry heaves.

When Hutch finished, he sat back and, with Starsky’s support, slumped against the bathtub gulping for air. His exhausted body trembled, and he barely noticed Starsky wiping his face with another cold washcloth. It felt so good against his hot skin. When the arm came around his shoulders, he let himself be pulled against the comfort of his friend. He was just beginning to allow an inviting wave of sleep to once more take him away, when what felt like a giant hand reached into his gut and began ripping him apart.

“OH, GOD!” he screamed, at the same time as he doubled over onto the floor while guarding his abdomen.

Starsky quickly grabbed him. “Hutch! What’s wrong? Talk to me, Hutch. What’s hurting?”

“Starsk!” he gasped. “It hurts! Oh, God, it hurts!”

All Starsky could do was pull Hutch’s rigid body off the floor and into his lap and hold onto him while he went through this spell.

Dear God, make it stop! I don’t know how much longer he can hold out. Starsky took a deep breath and composed himself, although he was merely holding on by a thread.

“Okay, Hutch, listen to me. Everything is going to be fine; just try to relax and you’ll be fine.” Hutch didn’t miss his partner’s shaking voice. Starsky continued rubbing Hutch’s back, trying to soothe the spasms away. “I’m right here, Hutch.”

“It hurts, Starsk!” Hutch screamed out.

“Okay, it’s okay.”

“I can’t take this anymore! Oh, God, it hurts!”

“I know, buddy, just hang in there, let it pass.”

Starsky felt helpless to do anything else, so he just gently rocked his partner while the waves of spasms coursed through his body. He could feel Hutch’s fingers digging into his sides whenever one hit, and he tried to bite back groans of pain.

They stayed that way for several minutes, before Starsky could feel the rigidity slowly easing in his partner’s body, telling him the spasms were finally leaving.

Thank you, God.

“See, what did I tell ya?” Starsky gave a short, nervous laugh. “You’re gonna be fine, kid.” Starsky let out a laugh, partially one of relief.

Hutch, too exhausted to comment, lay on his side across Starsky’s lap, sucking in air, with one of his large hands wrapped securely around Starsky.

“Hey,” Starsky said, as he brushed at his partner’s soaked hair. “This ain’t no place to be takin’ a nap; help me get you up.”

Starsky sat Hutch up and fought to get him to his feet. Hutch, in no shape to resist, allowed himself to be led out of the bathroom.

“Where…where we going?” Hutch struggled to get the words out.

“Back to bed.”

Hutch barely noticed when they passed the sofa and turned into the bedroom. Starsky sprawled him out on his bed, and Hutch could vaguely tell someone was pulling at his shirt, lifting it over his head. He was glad to be rid of that sweat-soaked shirt, but the chill in his bones begged for something warm.

“Wha-what are ya doin’?” Hutch’s shivering voice was barely a whisper.

“What does it look like? I’m putting you to bed, where you belong.” Starsky unbuckled Hutch’s pants, opened them up, and fought to get them over his hips. Hutch thought he should help, but couldn’t summon up the strength.

“Nothin’ but dead weight,” Starsky groaned. Finally, he grasped Hutch’s jeans by the cuffs and, with a few good yanks, slid them off. He then took a blanket from the closet and spread it over his friend. Next he pulled a t-shirt from his dresser drawer and slipped it over his own bare torso.

Hutch curled up on his side, wrapping the blanket tighter around his trembling body.

“Starsk?” A whisper was all Hutch could manage.

Starsky leaned over the still form. “I’m right here, what do you need?”

“Stay?” the voice pleaded. Maybe you can keep the nightmares away.

Starsky climbed into bed next to his friend, lay on his side, and dropped his arm around Hutch. “I ain’t goin’ no where.”

But Starsky couldn’t keep the nightmares away. Hutch could only sleep a few hours at a time, before he’d wake up from another one, nauseated and burning with fever. This time he tried getting out of bed himself, but when he threw back the covers and swung his legs off the bed, they refused to hold him up. He took a few steps before his knees buckled, sending him tumbling to the floor.

“Hutch, wait for me.” Starsky pulled him to his feet and dragged him off to the bathroom once again. Hutch leaned over the toilet, dry-heaving while Starsky held onto him. To Starsky, Hutch’s sweat-soaked skin, felt as if it were on fire. When Hutch finished, Starsky eased him against the bathtub and held onto him, waiting for his friend to compose himself again.

“Burnin’ up,” Hutch groaned out.

“I know, buddy. We’ll get that fever down.”

“Gotta get out of here.” Hutch tried to scramble away from Starsky, but didn’t get very far.

“Where you going, Hutch?”

“Let me go, gotta find Monk. Gotta find him.”

“What are you talkin’ about? Are you, crazy?”

“Where am I? Get away from me.” Hutch made another feeble attempt to get away, but Starsky only held him in place.

“Easy there, Hutch, you’ve got to calm down.”

Hutch’s skin was so hot, Starsky thought about taking his temperature, but was afraid he’d bite down on the thermometer, releasing the mercury into his mouth, and he wasn’t sure exactly how to give it “the other way” without hurting him. It was obvious, Hutch was burning up to the point of delirium.

“Get away, gotta get away. It’s so dark; I need light…wh’re’s Monk? Jeanie, please help! Forest, he’s comin’, he’s comin’, he’s going to kill me.”

“Hutch, it’s Starsky, c’mon, snap out of it.” Starsky grabbed a nearby towel and wiped the sweat pouring from Hutch’s face “Come on, it’s Starsky. No one else is here.”

He distantly thought about Hutch dehydrating, and if this didn’t stop soon, he might have to take him to the hospital. Then he’d have to explain everything–something he’d swore he’d never do. It would more than likely get back to the department and not only Hutch’s career, but his own and Captain Dobey’s would be over. ”

“Come on, Hutch, get up. We gotta do something about this.” He wrapped his arms around Hutch’s body and pulled him to his feet”

“NO! Let go, get away from me!” Hutch argued, but could do little else to stop it all.

“Gotta get that fever down.” Starsky moved him over to the shower stall and turned on the cold water “You’re gonna hate me for this, buddy.” With one heave, he moved both of them inside the stall.

Hutch let out a yelp when the cold hit his hot flesh. Starsky also gasped at the shock of it hitting his own body. ”

“No, no, no!” Hutch struggled with everything he had, but Starsky refused to let him go.

“We have to do this, babe. It’s for your own good,” he whispered in Hutch’s ear. Starsky’s, body tensed at the frigid water. It was telling him to get out, but he remained–his main focus was Hutch. No longer able to fight, Hutch’s body gave in and, with Starsky’s support, sank to the floor of the enclosure.

_*_*_*_

When Hutch opened his eyes, he was greeted by a ray of sunlight beaming through the partially opened blinds. He turned away squinting.

“About time, sleepy head.”

Hutch turned toward the voice, finding Starsky sitting in a chair near the bed. He looked around the bedroom, trying to make some sense of how he got there.

“What time is it?” he groaned out.

“Would you believe two in the afternoon?”

“What?!”

“You had a rough night.”

Hutch fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I bet I’m a real sight right now.”

Starsky shrugged. “Nothing a shower and a shave couldn’t fix.”

Hutch thought for a moment. “I thought I took a shower last night–with you, as a matter of fact.”

Starsky looked up at him wide-eyed. “You mean you remember that?”

“I actually wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not. Now I know.” Hutch took a deep breath, pulled the covers away, sat up, and swung his feet onto the floor. He groaned as just about every muscle in his body protested his movements.

“Take it slow, buddy, you’re gonna be sore for a while.”

Hutch let out a long breath. “You don’t have to tell me,” he groaned. He looked down at himself and realized he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. He pulled the covers back over his lap, then looked around the room.

“Where’re my pants?”

“How ya feelin’?”

“Where’re my pants?”

“In the dryer with the rest of your clothes. They should be ready in about ten minutes. In the meantime, how ’bout some coffee?”

Hutch put his hand to his stomach and made a sour face. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea.”

Starsky leaned foward. “You gotta have something. How about some warm milk and honey? Ma says it’s a cure-all for any upset stomach. Besides, you need to start getting fluids down. Think you can handle that for starters?”

Hutch put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. “I guess so,” he said simply, without looking up.

While Starsky was in the kitchen, Hutch went to the bathroom, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. After finishing, he slowly sauntered out into the living room, wearing a pair of Starsky’s cut-off sweats, and a

t-shirt, then plopped down wearily onto the sofa. Minutes later, the milk and dry toast were sitting in front of Hutch, but all he did was stare at them.

“Ya have to put it in your mouth and swallow; works better that way.”

Hutch took a slice of toast, dunked it in the milk, and bit into it. Starsky shrugged. “As long as you’re getting it down.”

“As long as it stays down,” Hutch corrected.

“Well, there is that.”

Starsky was pleased to see Hutch take another bite of his toast, then wash it down with the honey milk.

“Sorry about barging my way in here last night. I should’ve called first.”

Starsky settled on the couch next to Hutch and turned partway toward him. “Mi casa, su casa. It’s always been like that–which is why you have your own key. Besides, I can recall a time or two waking up and finding myself on your couch.”

Hutch smirked. “I can recall a time or two waking up to find you in my bed with me.”

Starsky laughed. “Oh, yeah, I think I was pretty drunk those nights.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “So ya see, it doesn’t matter.”

Starsky gave him a side grin. “I have to admit, though, I fell clean out of bed when I first heard you out here. I thought, you were a robber.”

Starsky detected a small smile forming on his partner’s face, then laughed himself.

“You should’a seen me barreling out here in a blaze of glory, wearing nothing more than my underwear and wielding a baseball bat.”

Hutch couldn’t help a laugh, which Starsky found contagious.

“Sorry, Starsk, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Are you kiddin’? I was actually relieved to see you here. For one thing, I was glad you weren’t a burglar. I really wanted to call you last night, but I fell asleep instead. I planned to try again this morning, but you saved me the dime. The real question is, how are you feeling this morning?”

Hutch took another bite of his toast and just stared at the milk. “Except for a tortured stomach, I feel fine now. But in another hour, who the hell knows?”

“You know, you really had me worried last night, Hutch. I almost called an ambulance.”

Hutch looked up at him. “I was that bad?”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah, and you scared the shit out of me in the meantime.”

“Sorry, Starsk.” Hutch took another bite of his toast and washed it down with the milk. He was beginning to realize how hungry he actually was.

Starsky nodded then became serious. “Ready to talk to me, yet? I mean, I figured that’s why you came over in the first place.”

Hutch shrugged as if lost for words. “What’s there to say? I mean, Monk gets out of jail, the nightmares start, and weird things begin happening. I tried handling it on my own, thinking they’d all go away eventually, but it’s only gotten worse.” Hutch looked down, slightly embarrassed. “I-I guess I couldn’t take it anymore, that’s why I came over.”

“Well, for the record, I’m glad you finally did. I was wondering what was taking you so long. We normally don’t hide things from each other, Hutch.”

Hutch looked down into his milk. “I know and I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to bother you with all of this.” He finally looked up into Starsky’s eyes. “Like I said, I thought it would all go away. Apparently that’s not happening. The thing is, I don’t know exactly what is happening.”

“For one thing, don’t be sorry. Two, if you have a problem, it’s never a bother for you to come to me. It never has been, you know that. As for what’s happening to you, I think I have it all figured out.”

Hutch looked up at his friend with skepticism. “You do, do you?”

Starsky rested against the back of the sofa. “Can I tell ya something, Hutch? After everything settled down with Forest, Monk, and the rest of that gang, I did a little reading on that junk. More like, I read a lot on it–as much as I could get my hands on, as a matter of fact.”

Hutch raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What made you go do something like that?”

Starsky leaned toward Hutch. “Because I don’t know what’s worse-going through what you went through, or watching your best friend go though it. You think you were the only one having nightmares? I wanted to know as much about that crap as I could.”

Hutch suddenly became curious. “So what did you find out?”

Starsky repositioned himself on the sofa. “I found that sometimes withdrawal symptoms can return, even years later.”

Hutch looked up wide-eyed, as if finally making the connection. “You mean, that’s what the hell I’ve been going through? Withdrawal?” Suddenly losing his appetite, Hutch pushed the plate and glass away from him and sat back on the couch. “Jesus, you mean to tell me after all these years, I’m still having this damn withdrawal?!”

“Well, now listen… the book said, sometimes events take place that can trigger these symptoms again. It sort of reminds the brain of what it’s been missing.

“Something happened, all right–that asshole was released.”

“Well, maybe you had so much anxiety over Monk being out of jail, the real issue of it all–the junk-eventually surfaced, bringing out these withdrawal symptoms again without the drug to cloud your mind this time around. Don’t forget, we’ve both been really run down lately, especially after spending several nights sitting in the freezing rain during that stakeout. I know you’ve been also pumping yourself up with that cold medicine and those vitamins of yours, so the whole damn week’s worth of bad news most likely contributed to your anxiety. What I can’t figure is, it’s only Monk, Hutch. It was Forest who made it all happen; he gave all the orders. He would’a had all that stuff done to you, whether or not Monk was around. I could understand if he was out, but Monk? I just don’t get it.”

Hutch sat up and looked at Starsky. “You really want to know?” Starsky knew by the tone of Hutch’s voice, he was finally going to spill it. “Because Monk was the man who grabbed me and dragged me out of my own home. Monk was the one who was there while I was blindfolded and tied to that chair, demanding answers and telling his goons to beat the living shit out of me to make me talk. And don’t think Monk didn’t take a few whacks himself; I think it was mostly for pleasure. And it was Monk who shoved that needle in my arm over and over again. Maybe Forest was in the background making the decisions, but it was Monk who personally carried them out. I don’t remember too much about Forest, he stayed out of the way, but Monk was there all the time. Every time I think of that incident in my life, it’s Monk who I remember most of all-­not, Forest. He was just a ghostly figure as far as I was concerned. I blame Monk for me having to move from my cottage. No matter how hard I tried, I never felt the same in that place afterward. You know how much I loved that place and how excited I was when I first found it. Monk took that all away; he turned that dream place into a nightmare. And as far as those go, it was Monk I had nightmares about, not Forest.” Hutch looked up at Starsky with pleading eyes. “Am I making sense, or am I just crazy? Because right now, I can’t tell anymore.”

Starsky shook his head and sighed. He finally got it.

“You make a whole lot of sense, Hutch.” Starsky sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. “I guess thinking back to when I was being held in that zoo, it wasn’t Marcus I was really afraid of. I’d never seen him the whole time they had me. It was his followers who were always there. God, Hutch, I never thought…I mean, I guess if one of Marcus’ guys were out of prison, I suppose I might be going through the same thing. The question is, what are we going to do about it?”

Hutch thought for a few moments before answering. “I’ve already asked Huggy to see if Monk’s at the same address.”

Starsky sat straight up, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “You did what?”

Hutch simply stated, “I need to see him.”

Starsky shook his head, mainly in disbelief, and held up an opened palm as if to stop the information from coming at him. “Wait a sec, Hutch. Why would you want to do something like that?”

Hutch shook his head. “I never said I wanted to; I said I need to. Maybe if I were to see him for once on an equal playing field, that might help.”

Starsky raised his voice slightly, mainly in utter amazement at Hutch’s decision. “Well, what are you going to do when you do find him? What are you going to say to this guy?”

Hutch shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll say hello, then punch his lights out.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, what if going over there only makes things worse.”

“I don’t think things could get any worse.”

“Now listen, Hutch. I’ve known you for a long time, and I know how your temper can get. You’re liable to do something, to cause this thing to blowout of proportion. What if this gets back to the precinct? What if people start asking questions, like why did you hunt him down, and why did you beat the crap out of him? They’re going to want some answers. You should really think about this.”

“I have thought about it. I’ve thought about the nightmares, getting sick, the paranoia. Did you know I almost shot my own neighbor in the back because I thought he was Monk? Can you imagine if I would’ve pulled the trigger? That would’ve been a nice ending to my career and as a free man, not to mention my very innocent neighbor’s life.”

Starsky couldn’t believe his ears. “You almost shot Tim?”

“Tom,” Hutch corrected. “I was sitting on the sofa after waking up from my first nightmare, when he came in the building. I thought it was Monk coming to get me, so I grabbed my gun and went out after him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“Isn’t that what I just did?” Hutch answered.

“Only a day later. Look, Hutch, why don’t you think about this before you make any rash decisions?”

“I’m not going to argue with you on this, Starsk. I’m going to see him, and that’s that.”

Starsky sighed, knowing it would be a waste of time to argue. “Okay, fine, but at least take me with you.”

“I don’t even know if we’re going to be able to find him.”

“If he’s still in the city, we’ll track him down in no time.”

“Yeah, I suppose we have the know-how.”

“Damn straight, but before we do anything, you go jump in the shower and shave that beard off. I’m sure your clothes are dry by now.”

Hutch rubbed at the two-day growth on his chin. “Thanks.” He started to stand, but his protesting muscles forced him back down with a grunt.

“Gotta take it slow, buddy.” Starsky stood, gripped Hutch by both arms, and helped haul him to his feet. “Think you can make it from here, pal?”

Hutch answered by wrapping his arms around Starsky and pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you, Starsk, I really appreciate what you did for me last night.”

Starsky automatically returned the hug. “That’s what partners are for.”

Hutch hung on for a few additional moments before finally pulling back. Starsky held him at arm’s length and stared at him. “You’re gonna be okay, Hutch, you hear me?”

Hutch shyly looked down and nodded his head. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Starsky gave him a playful smack on his shoulder before releasing him.

_*_*_*_

Hutch emerged from the bathroom, showered and shaved, with a towel hung loosely around his waist. He walked up to Starsky, holding fresh gauze to the laceration on his arm and a roll of first-aid tape in his free hand. “Starsk, would you mind wrapping this for me?”

Starsky could see a spot of blood seeping through the gauze. “Didn’t I tell ya it needed stitches?”

Don’t start with the ‘I told you so’s’; I’m not in the mood.”

“Well, I did,” Starsky mumbled, at the same time inspecting the wound, before taping the gauze to it.

“Thanks, Starsk.”

“You got it, nature boy. By the way, your clothes are in the bedroom.”

“Thanks again.” Hutch walked into the bedroom to find his freshly laundered clothing laid out for him. He stripped off his towel and began dressing. “What are your plans for the day?” Hutch yelled out.

Starsky was sorting through his beta movies. “Well, I have to drop these off at the rental place.” Starsky pulled the copy of “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” out of the stack and left it on the coffee table. “‘Cept this one. After I come back, I’m gonna wash the Torino, then, well, it’s up to you.”

When Hutch came out of the bedroom, Starsky looked up at him and smiled, pleased at how much better Hutch looked compared to earlier, although he still looked pale and worn down.” “Well, you’re finally beginning to look human again.”

“I almost feel human.” Hutch let out a soft groan as he slowly sat on the sofa to put on his socks and shoes. All the muscles in his torso protested the entire way down.

Starsky frowned. “How you feelin’?”

“More awake and less like death warmed over, but I sure could use a good masseuse. However, I think your mom’s concoction has some real medicinal value to it. I may actually tempt fate and eat a bit of lunch today.” Hutch looked at his watch and sighed. “More like dinner. You know, I feel like the day’s almost gone and I haven’t done a thing.”

Starsky shrugged, barely looking up from the beta movies in his hand. “What can you expect after the night you had? You needed your sleep.”

“That’s the truth, but I’ve never slept in this late in my life. I guess I’ll have to make the best of what’s left of it.” Hutch slowly rose from the sofa, letting out a low groan, and started for the door.

“Well, while you’re doing your thing, I’m going to do mine.”

Starsky spun around toward the door. “Hey, where’re you goin’?”

“Out.”

“Out? Don’t you think you should take it easy today?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Fine? After what you went through last night? I think you should lie low, maybe tomorrow, too, for that matter.”

“Would it make you feel better if I promised not to overdo it?”

“No, because you’d go ahead and do it anyway. What are your plans?”

Hutch thought about it a little. “Maybe I need to wash my car, too.”

Starsky snickered. “Yeah? Since when? Rain is the only water your car ever sees.”

“You never miss a chance to take shots at my car, do you?” Hutch grabbed the doorknob. “I’ll see you later.”

“Hey, uh, Hutch?”

Hutch turned back. “Huh?”

“Are we gonna do dinner tonight?”

Hutch thought for a moment then nodded. “Yeah.”

“You comin’ back here?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back.”

“What time?”

Hutch shrugged again. “I don’t know, six…seven, I guess.”

“Are you sure you’re gonna be all right?”

“Yes, Mom, I’ll be just fine. I’ll call if I get lost.”

“Smarty,” Starsky grumbled before returning his attention back to his beta movies.

Hutch opened the door and left. Starsky watched the door close behind him. “Wash your car, my ass. What are you really up to, Kenneth Hutchinson?”

_*_*_*_

Starsky walked into his apartment to a ringing phone. He quickly ran over and grabbed it off the hook.

“‘Hello.”

“Starsky, Captain Dobey here. Is Hutchinson with you?”

“No, Cap’n, he was here earlier, but left to run a coupl’a errands. He’s supposed to come back here later. Why? Somethin’ wrong?”

“Baker just got finished interviewing one of those thugs you busted. You were right, the Gratz kid sang like a canary.”

“Yeah? That’s terrific, Cap’n! What’d he have to say?”

“You’re not going to believe this.”

“Try me.”

“Well, it looks like it didn’t take Allen Phylos long to go back to his old ways. It seems he’s the big man behind all of this. Apparently, he’s been somehow running the ring from behind bars all this time, and, now that he’s out, he’s really been getting aggressive. It looks like he’s trying to pick up where Forest left off. Judge Addison already signed his arrest warrant; all we have to do is pick him up. Parole informed us he’s still holed out at 915 Merchamer Street.”

“That sure seems like a lot of information for a kid to have on a kingpin, Captain. You sure he isn’t just sending you on a wild goose chase just to catch a break?”

“The kid said he received the information from some of the higher-ranking drug dealers, you know, the ones closer to the top dog. It seems some of them just couldn’t keep their mouths shut. You know how it goes, Starsky, they like to talk–it makes them look like hotshots.”

“Well, you know what they say, ninety-eight percent of prisoners are in jail because somebody talked.”

“That’s a break for us good guys. Now, all you have to do is find that partner of yours and get down there.”

“I’ll call his place, then I’ll get back with you to let you know we’re on our way.”

“Fine, but don’t take too long. If the word gets back that someone squealed on him, he may uproot and relocate his business, and this kid’s life may not be worth two cents.”

“Will do, Cap’n.”

Starsky pressed the receiver down, and when he got a dial tone, he proceeded to call Venice Place. “This is going to make his day.” But nobody answered the phone. After letting it ring twenty times, disappointed, Starsky hung up. “Okay, think, where else could he have gone?” After taking a moment to think, Starsky picked up the phone again and dialed another number. After ten rings, there was finally an answer.

“Huggy’s dip and sip!” The owner screamed into the receiver above the restaurant noise. “Make it quick, ain’t got all day!”

“Huggy! Starsky!”

“Sparky? Hey, chump, when you gonna gimme back that twenty bucks?”

Louder, “Huggy, it’s Starsky, not Sparky! I have to talk to you!”

“Oh, Starsky! Hold on a sec!”

Starsky was put on hold, and a few moments later, Huggy picked up on an extension in his office.

“Don’t mind the noise, Starsky, the natives are getting restless earlier than usual.”

“No problem. Hey, listen, I’m looking for that partner of mine. Have you seen him?”

Huggy hesitated before answering. “Well, uh, he may have stopped in here earlier. Why?”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Didn’t ask. I’m not his mom, you know.”

Starsky sighed. “You can stop covering for him, Huggy. He told me about visiting you last night.”

Huggy instantly relaxed. He never felt comfortable keeping secrets between the partners. “He did? Funny, he made it sound like he wanted to keep it to himself.”

“Yeah, well, you know he can’t keep anything from me.”

“Never could, could he?”

“Nope. Anyway, did he say anything, like where he was going?”

“I guess he didn’t tell you yet.”

“Tell me what?”

“He came by here about an hour ago. I let him know Monk still had his old place. Seems the man is becoming quite popular around these parts again.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much. He just asked me for the information, gave me back my key and left.”

.”What key?”

“Last night he borrowed the key to my old place.”

“He what? Why would he borr–? Oh, damn. Hey, listen, Huggy, thanks a lot, I’ll get back to you, okay?”

“Hope I didn’t get Blondie in any trouble.”

“No, you did fine. Thanks again, Hug.” Starsky hung up the phone. “I’m just going to kill him is all.”

Starsky dialed Hutch’s number again. “Come on, Hutch, you better be home. If you’ve done

anything stupid ” He let the phone ring twenty times before he gave up. “Damn it, Hutch, I

told you we’d go together.”

Starsky picked up the phone again and dialed Dobey’s number.

“Captain Dobey’s office.”

“Cap’n, Starsky. I located Hutch. He and I will be going over to Phylos’ place in a few minutes.”

“Good work, Starsky. I’ll have several squads met you there in twenty minutes.”

“No, Cap’n, listen. We don’t need any back-up. Just have a black-and-white meet me at my place with the warrant.”

“Starsky, don’t go in there by yourselves and do something dumb. This man could still be dangerous, and there’s no telling what he’d do to keep from going back to jail.

“I know that, Captain. I’ll be careful. Besides, I’ll have my partner with me.”

“I don’t like it, Starsky. I don’t like you two going over there alone. You don’t know who else he has in there.”

“Then have few black-and-whites hanging back, just in case. Once we see what we got, we’ll call them in for support.”

“I still don’t like it.”

“I’ll have a radio with me at all times. I’ll send a signal at the slightest sign of trouble.”

There were a few seconds of silence. “Okay, but you only get ten minutes and not a second more. And I’m only giving you that because I have a feeling this all has something to do with Hutchinson. Just don’t do anything stupid and get yourselves hurt.”

“No chance in that happening, Cap’n. And, uh, thanks a lat.”

“Just get that guy. I’ll have a uniform meet you at your place to give you the warrant.”

“What about the other detectives?”

“They’re off rounding up a few other members this kid gave information on. If we get all of them at once, there’s no chance of one party tipping off the other.”

“Great thinking, Captain.”

“That’s why I’m the captain.”

_*_*_*_

Hutch pulled up to the house at 915 Merchamer Street and shut off his engine. He took one good look at the house, and right away a chill ran through his body. Even though he’d never actually seen the outside of that house, just knowing he had been held in there was enough to bring back more unwanted memories. He vaguely remembered being brought out of some house and shoved into a car. He surmised this was the one.

“Where you figure, Monk?”

“Off the point; water’s deep, current ought to carry that body out about two hundred miles.”

“By then he ought to be sharks’ bait.”

Hutch shook the memories from his head, although it took a few moments to compose himself.

After staring at the house for a few more minutes, Hutch finally got up enough courage to open the car door and step out. With apprehension, he approached the front door, took a deep breath, and lightly knocked. When there was no answer, he couldn’t help feel relieved. He turned around and began walking back to his car, but after taking a few steps he stopped in his tracks. No more running. It’s now or never.

Hutch took a deep breath, did an about-face, and walked back to the door. After waiting a few more seconds, he pounded with much greater force. He had seen a car in the driveway and knew somebody had to be there. When he heard footsteps approaching from inside, he felt his heart ­rate increase. He took a deep breath to calm himself.

“Hold on, I’m coming!” came a loud, impatient voice from the other side.

The recognizable sound of Monk’s voice was enough to make the thin hairs on the back of Hutch’s neck raise up. His first instinct was to turn and run, but he held his ground. He could hear the locks unlatching, and finally the door opened. It was the first time in over five years the two men had laid eyes on each other. Monk seemed to have aged more than Hutch thought he should’ve, but he knew prison life could do that to a person. His hair showed streaks of gray, his features were hardened, and he seemed to have more wrinkles. He was stockier than Hutch remembered. He figured he must’ve spent a good part of those five years doing what a lot of guys in prison did–lifting weights.

Monk was dressed in a tailored suit, minus the blazer. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his forearms, his collar and tie loosened, but his vest was buttoned up. He certainly hadn’t lost his flare for high-class attire.

The man at the door looked up at Hutch, bothered by the intrusion. “What do you want?”

“Allen Phylos?” Hutch’s demeanor was surprisingly calm, but he could feel the hatred for this man slowly boiling inside.

“Whatever you’re selling, I don’t want any,” Monk spat out. He tried to close the door, but Hutch used his foot to stop it. He felt insulted that after all that had happened, Monk didn’t even remember who he was. For some inexplicable reason, this only increased his resentment.

“You don’t remember me?” Hutch calmly asked. “It’s only been five years, Monk.”

Monk squinted at Hutch, as if trying to recognize who he was. He thought the blond stranger looked familiar, but couldn’t quite make the connection. Hutch had also added on a few wrinkles, as well as a few pounds, and the streets had hardened his once boyish features to a small extent, but not nearly as much as Monk’s. Although Hutch had recently cut his hair again, it was still longer than it had been back then, and he now sported a moustache. “Do I know you?”

“I think you do.”

Monk took a closer look and shook his head. “You look familiar, but I can’t place the face. Either let me in on the mystery, or get the hell out of here. I’m a busy man.”

“Maybe this will bring back your memory.” Hutch let go with a hard right to Monk’s jaw, sending him hurling back into the house. Monk stumbled over the edge of a coffee table sitting in the middle of the living room and landed flat on his back.

“What the hell–?”

Hutch shoved the door open and walked in. “Get up,” he ordered.

“What the hell do you want?!” Monk demanded, while rubbing his jaw and backing away from the approaching stranger.

“I said get up!” Hutch grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet. He dragged him over to a desk sitting against the front wall, pulled out the simple wooden chair, and threw Monk down into it. Hutch jabbed his finger at him and demanded in a low threatening voice. “Now stay there until I tell you to move.”

“What do you want from me?”

Hutch could hear a hint of fear in Monk’s voice. “I want some answers!”

“How can I give you any answers, if I don’t know who the hell you are?”

“Well, I guess you’ve had so many victims in your time, you can’t remember who’s who anymore.” Hutch couldn’t help but enjoy this role reversal. He thought it was a long time coming.

“Is anyone else here besides us?”

“No, I’m here alone.”

Hutch calmly pulled his gun from its holster, pointed it directly at Monk’s forehead, and cocked the hammer. Monk gasped, closed his eyes, and turned his head away. He almost expected Hutch to pull the trigger.

“I’m going to ask you again. Is there anyone else here besides us?”

“Jesus Christ, why don’t you go check out the place yourself?” Monk pleaded.

“Sounds like a good idea, Monk.” Hutch put away his gun, then removed his handcuffs from his jeans pocket and quickly secured Monk’s hands behind his back, then leaned down into his face. “Don’t go anywhere.”

After thoroughly searching the house, Hutch returned to the living room. “I’d a blown your head clean off if you were lying to me.”

“Listen,” Monk pleaded. “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve been away for a couple of years, so I haven’t been around to do anything.”

“You’ve been away for five years, three months, two weeks and six days to be exact,” Hutch answered, as he slowly encircled the chair.

Monk looked up at him with a mixture of surprise and confusion. “How do you know that?”

Hutch stunned him with a smack to the back of the head.

“I ask the questions around here. Do I make myself clear?” When there was no answer, Hutch smacked him again. “I asked you a question.”

“Goddamn it, yes!” Monk screamed out.

“A simple yes will do.”

“Look, Mac, my wallet’s in the bedroom on the lamp table. Take what you want and just go.”

“Sorry, Monk, it’s not your money I’m interested in. It’s you.” Hutch stood behind him and bent over so he could speak directly into Monk’s ear. “Don’t you find it interesting how circumstances can sometimes do a complete about-face?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Well it’s kinda like when the hunter suddenly becomes the hunted, and vice versa.”

“You’re talking in riddles. I can’t give you what you want unless I know what you’re talking about.”

“Fair enough, Monk.” Hutch stood up and continued circling the chair, Monk’s eyes following him as far as they would allow.

“To jog your memory, I’ll give you this much. You and I met briefly about five years ago, but under a whole different set of circumstances. Think about it, Monk. Think about your last act before going to jail. You know, testifying against a powerful mob boss like Ben Forest isn’t exactly the healthiest thing to do. He probably already has people out here looking to even the ­score. I’d say, your days are numbered.”

Wide-eyed and startled, Monk looked sharply toward his captor. “Forest sent you here, didn’t he?” he gasped.

“Don’t be stupid, Monk. I’m here for me, not Forest. ‘That bastard can rot in hell for all I care.”

“Wait a minute.” Monk wriggled his cuffs. “You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“Not just any cop.” Hutch, now standing in front of him, leaned down until his face was mere inches from Monk’s. “I’m the cop you damn near killed.”

Monk thought he’d lose his breath right there. “Hutchinson.” His heart nearly came out of his chest.

“You’re a brilliant one, Monk.” And with that, followed another smack in the head.

“What are you gonna do, kill me? What’s everyone gonna say?”

Hutch shrugged. “Nobody knows I’m here but you and me.” Hutch didn’t have any intention of killing Monk, but he didn’t care if Monk believed he was about to die. The memories finally came flooding back to Monk.

“Look, Hutchinson, what happened to you…you have to understand…it wasn’t my idea. You have to believe me! Forest ordered it all. I thought we’d just rough you up a little and you’d give up that girl, but you didn’t. You kept holding out. I tried talking Forest out of shooting you up. I told him there were other girls out there for him, that he didn’t need to go that route.”

Hutch clenched his teeth together and just seethed. “But you did it anyway, didn’t you?”

“Look, Hutch, buddy, you just don’t understand–”

Hutch smacked him in the head again, then leaned down into his face and pointed an index finger directly at him. The name, is Hutchinson. Only my friends call me Hutch, something you will never become. Do YOU understand?

“Yes, damn it!” Monk was becoming increasingly annoyed at being smacked so often. He also feared the cop would find the drug lab and sizable heroin stash in the converted basement. Although it was hidden behind a false cinderblock wall, there was no telling what might be lying around in the main area for anyone to find. Some of his underlings had a habit of being careless from time -to time.

“Look, Hutchinson, you have to understand, when you work for a man like Ben Forest, you just don’t decide not to follow orders.”

Hutch continued circling the chair. “Well, I guess you made a bad career choice, didn’t you? You should’ve settled for flipping burgers or mopping restrooms at some greasy spoon. You wouldn’t have wasted five years in the slammer, and you wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for me to blow your head off.”

“Ha! That’s a laugh. You’re a cop; you’re not going to kill me and risk going to jail. You know what they do to cops in there? They would be wait–”

A hard slap to the head startled him. “Damn it, Hutchinson, you’re giving me a headache!”

“Oh, you poor baby, should I get you some aspirin?” Hutch spat sarcastically.

“So tell me, Monk, did Bubba get to you? Was he your sweet daddy? Did you bend over for him? Maybe you earned yourself a nice pair of kneepads?

Monk clenched his teeth. “Go to hell, Hutchinson!” Monk turned his head away, too embarrassed to look Hutch in the eye any longer.

Hutch smiled in small satisfaction. Maybe I should send this Bubba a thank-you card.

“What’s the matter, punk, did I stir up some romantic memories for you? Do you miss your husband? Maybe I should call you ‘Mrs. Bubba’ from now on.”

“Fuck you, Hutchinson! Go ahead, smack me again, and I’ll still tell you to go fuck yourself!”

“Is that what he did to you, Mrs. Bubba? Did he fuck you up the ass? Loosened you up, I gather? How did it feel, boy?” Hutch leaned down and smacked Monk in the face and pointed his finger at him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” To Hutch’s own surprise, he was really enjoying himself. Turnabout–it was long overdue. Maybe now the nightmares will stop.

Monk looked up at him, chest heaving, wanting to rip the throat out of his captor to shut him up for good.

Hutch could practically see what he was thinking_ it only made him smile in satisfaction. For once, he was going to get revenge his own way. To hell with the law.

“Tell me, Monk. When he had you bent over and spread out for his enjoyment, and there was nothing you could do, nobody there to save you, and you had no choice but to wait for him to do whatever he wanted to you for as long as he wanted–what did you think? Did you feel helpless? How does it feel to be at the mercy of somebody else for no good reason other than you were just there–a convenient tool? Did he have others help? Did they all take their turn with you? Did you like it? How did it feel, Monk?”

Monk looked up at him red-faced and ready to explode. “Why the hell don’t you let me go and I’ll show you how it feels, you fucking whore-loving junkie!” Monk spat.

Hutch exploded with a hard backhand to Monk’s face. “Shut up!”

“Fuck you, Hutchinson! You low-life piece of shit! If you were any kind of man, you’d take these handcuffs off and face me on equal ground!”

“Just like you did with me five years ago?”

“I should’ve killed you then, when I had the chance! I should’ve blown your goddamn brains all over that bitch you tried to protect!” Monk laughed sarcastically. “Yeah, you tried protecting her, but you know what? We got her anyway!”

Hutch grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him out of the chair, then landed a hard right to his face, sending him across the room. With his hands cuffed behind his back, Monk had no way of bracing himself. He crashed into the coffee table and fell over it, sending magazines, a glass, and an ashtray to the floor. Blood now trickled from his mouth and nose.

Before he could compose himself, Hutch was kneeling in front of him, grabbing him by the shirt, and repeatedly slamming him against the floor. “I thought I told you to shut up!” Hutch yelled between slams. “You’re right, you should’ve killed me when you had the chance, but you didn’t and now here I am! You asshole, why’d you do what you did to me? I just want to know.” Hutch yelled. “You fucked up my life forever!”

“Hutch! Not like that!” Two strong arms grabbed him from behind and pulled him away from the man on the floor.

“Hutch, that’s not the way.”

Hutch pulled away from the strong grip and spun around. He was surprised to see Starsky, but couldn’t be concerned right then with how he’d found him. Hutch just shoved him away and jabbed his finger at him. “Stay out of this, Starsky! I’m handling it my way!”

“Not that way, Hutch. Let’s do this one by the book,” Starsky tried to reason.

“Stuff the book!” Hutch yelled back. “This man has never paid for what he’s done to me! Never! Is that going by the book? You heard Dobey; it was as if what he did never happened! Well, goddamn it, it did happen! And he’s gotten away clean, that is, up until now! This man will learn he never should’ve done what he did to me!”

Hutch turned back toward Monk, who was still on the floor reeling from his assault. But before Hutch could continue, Starsky spun him back around and grabbed him just above the elbows.

“Listen to yourself talk, Hutch. You sound just like those vigilantes we busted. That’s not you. That’s not how you operate. Let’s do things the right way–you and me, partner, like it’s supposed to be.”

Starsky felt Hutch’s tense muscles suddenly relax. Hutch was looking at him with tired eyes.

“I just want a little justice, Starsk.” He gestured toward Monk. “This man took so much away from me and doesn’t even give a shit.” His voice was pleading for Starsky to understand. “What Marcus’ cult did to you was horrible, and they all went to jail for what they did. The Grossmans went to jail for killing Gillian. Balford and Humphries went to jail for trying to kill me in that canyon, even Gunther will be in jail until his dying day. We’ve sent countless people to jail for all the innocent people they victimized.”

Hutch clenched his teeth when his anger began rebuilding. “But this worthless piece of shit never did a day for me! He never paid in any way! Do you have any idea how that feels, Starsky? I feel like a victim all over again.”

“I hear you, but you can’t do it this way. Don’t put your career on the line because of him, he’d only win again. Look, Hutch, look at this.” Starsky pulled the warrant from his back pocket and held it up for Hutch to see.

“He’s the man we’ve been looking for all this time. The Gratz kid broke. He named Monk as the head of that heroin ring we’ve been trying to crack. We get him, and the whole business falls apart and he goes right back to jail. The others are being rounded up as we speak. There’s a crime lab team coming here with dogs and everything. If the lab is here, we’ll find it. That’s what brought me here–to take him back to jail.”

Monk had heard every word. He was not going back to jail that easily.

“You can even be the one to arre–” Starsky looked down at the already handcuffed man on the floor. “Well, you can read him his rights, too.”

“Rights? I can’t believe a piece of garbage like him still has rights.” Hutch looked down at Monk. “Looks like you’re going home to Bubba, Monk. Send him my regards, sweet pea.” Hutch liked believing some big daddy would continue exacting revenge for him, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

“Hey, junkie, I can give you all the horse you want if you let me go. I can make you feel good again. Isn’t that what you want, you druggie waste of a man?”

“You asshole!” Hutch made a lunge for Monk, but Starsky grabbed him, pushed him back, and pointed toward the cellar.

“Go check the basement for the stash, Hutch. I’ll take care of him.”

“No you won’t; he’s mine!” Hutch made another attempt to get to Monk, only to find Starsky standing between them and pushing him back again.

“You’re wrong. He’s ours, partner.” He pointed in the direction of the basement again. “Now go check the basement before I cuff you myself!”

From the look on Starsky’s face, Hutch had no doubt he would follow through with his threat. After last night’s episode, he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, so he knew he couldn’t stop his partner from wrestling him to the floor if he wanted to. After taking a few moments to stare defiantly into Starsky’s eyes, Hutch turned and left.

Starsky waited until he could hear Hutch go down into the basement, then turned to his prisoner on the floor. “Well, Monk, isn’t this kinda like deja vu all over again?” He reached down to haul him to his feet, but was taken by surprise when the front door burst opened and two of Ben Forest’s former aides rushed in. They were the same thugs Starsky had arrested along with Monk and Forest over five years ago. Both were tall and broad looking–one blond named Demski, and a brunet who went by the name Coney.

In a moment’s decision, Monk sent a hard kick into Starsky’s stomach, doubling him over, then kicked him a second time in the face. Starsky fell back on the floor in a heap. Demski quickly stood over him, and, realizing he was semiconscious, grabbed Starsky by his jacket and pulled him several inches off the floor before sending a powerful backhand and a second blow to his face, then he dropped Starsky’s unconscious body back on the floor.

“Get these cuffs off me, Coney. Demski, go see to his partner; he’s down in the basement.”

The blond assailant pulled his gun and ran toward the cellar, while Coney rifled through Starsky’s.pockets for his handcuff key. When he found it, he removed the cuffs from Monk, roughly flipped Starsky onto his stomach, and bound his hands with them.

“What the hell took you idiots so long?” Monk admonished, rubbing his raw wrists.

“We saw this guy comin’ through da back door, Monk. We were watch in’ you three though da window. Hadda make sure we could get the jump on ’em.”

Monk stood up, took a handkerchief from his back pocket, and dabbed at the blood coming from his mouth and nose. He walked over to Starsky and gave him a hard kick to the ribs.

“That’s for your partner, asshole.” Then he gave him a second kick. “And that’s for shooting me five years ago.” Starsky never moved. Monk pulled Starsky’s jacket back and removed his gun from his holster and the two-way radio from his belt clip.

“You won’t be needing these, anymore,” he told the unconscious man. He turned toward Coney.

“And here I thought you were all brawn. Looks like you have something between those Dumbo ears of yours, after all.” Go downstairs, and help that other jerk. Don’t come back up here without that cop. And don’t shoot him; I want him for myself.”

“‘Kay, Monk.”

Before Coney could make it to the basement doorway, a shot rang out from below, followed by a crash.” He stopped in his tracks, listening for any other noises. Monk did the same. After a full minute of dead silence, Monk went to Coney and whispered, “Go see what that was all about.” Then he shoved him in the direction of the noise.

Afterwards, he turned around and went back into the living room to keep an eye on Starsky. Coney slowly made his way toward the top steps, his gun pointed in front of him at all times, with his finger on the trigger.

“Demski? You down there?” he called out, but received no answer. Coney hooked the fingers of his free hand around the partially open door and slowly pulled it farther away from the frame, his eyes never leaving the stairwell. Seeing nothing but blackness, Coney flipped the light switch to the basement and was grateful to see a light come on.

“Demski?” he called out again, but there still was no answer. With great caution, he dared to take one step down, then another. He was halfway down when the basement lights went out and he was caught in darkness. He turned to make a fast retreat, but a strong hand caught his leg and pulled him down. He lost his grip on the gun and heard it clatter somewhere between the open wooden steps. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Hutch pounced and pulled him the rest of the way down into the dark basement.

“Monk! Help! Monk! He got Demski!” Coney screamed.

“I have a bone to pick with you, too, asshole,” Hutch growled when he pulled him to his feet. Hutch held him firmly by his blazer with one hand, while pummeling him with the other. “You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!” Hutch yelled at him with each blow. He only stopped when the man, whose face was now a bloody pulp, fell to the ground in a heap.

Hutch pulled his own gun from its holster and ran up the stairs to where he’d left Monk and Starsky. He stopped in his tracks when he reentered the living room. Monk was straddling Starsky’s back. He had a fistful of his partner’s hair, pulling his head several inches from the floor. He was also holding the muzzle of Starsky’s own gun to his temple. Starsky still hadn’t regained consciousness, but even if he did, with his hands cuffed there wouldn’t be much he could do.

“Put the gun down. One more step and I’ll splatter him all over the rug. I’m not going back to jail. I’ll kill you both first.”

Hutch had his Python aimed directly at Monk’s head. “Drop the gun, Monk!” he yelled.

“I swear to God, Hutchinson, I’m not going back to jail. I’ll kill him!”

“I said drop the gun!” Hutch demanded in a louder voice.

“Fuck you! I think you got it all wrong. I’m the one who’s making the rules here.” Monk cocked the hammer on Starsky’s 9mm; the cold look in his eyes told Hutch he would pull the trigger. “You have three seconds, Hutchinson, to toss me your gun before I make good on my promise. One…two…thr–”

“Okay, okay, okay. Just…just don’t hurt him anymore,” Hutch pleaded. Hutch threw his gun to the floor and held up his hands.

“Isn’t it funny how quickly the upper hand can change? Don’t you think so, Hutch?”

“Now listen, Monk.” Hutch tried to reason for the sake of his partner’s life. “There’s a warrant out for your arrest; people know you’re here. They’re gonna come get you. If you give yourself up, you’ll just go back to jail. Killing a cop is a capital offense; you’ll get the chair for that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You see, Hutch, I’m not going back to jail. I’m getting out of here with my two hostages. I’ll be in another country before anyone can catch up with me.”

“Starsky and I will not be leaving here with you,” Hutch said flatly.

“I think you will.” Monk gestured down at Starsky. “He doesn’t seem to be protesting, why should you?”

“Now listen to me, Monk–”

“I’ll listen to nobody! You don’t tell me what to do anymore!” Monk snapped. He brought the handle of the gun down on Starsky’s head with a hard thud. The impact sent off a round to the ceiling.

Both men cringed, hoping to avoid being hit by the falling chunks of plaster. Monk lost his grip on Starsky’s hair and dropped his head back onto the carpet, face first. His other arm was thrown back, nearly causing him to lose the gun. Hutch started for Monk, but he stopped when the barrel was quickly pointed at him again.

“Not fast enough, pig. I make the rules from now on. You hear me?!” Hutch didn’t respond. His eyes never left Starsky.

Monk grabbed another handful of Starsky’s hair, brought his head off the ground, and re-aimed the gun toward the back of his head. “I said, I make the rules from now on. Do you hear me?!”

Hutch stared hatefully at Monk. “Yes,” he answered with mounting resentment.

“There, you see, things work out much better once we all agree.” Monk looked down at Starsky and, while gripping his hair, rattled his head. “Don’t you think so, buddy? I’d predict that he’ll have a hell of a headache in the morning, but that would be kind of hard for a dead man.”

Hutch looked at the blood coming from his partner’s nose and mouth. A fresh stream flowed steadily from the new head wound.

I’m gonna stand here and watch this man blow my best friend’s head apart, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do. Monk turned the gun back on Hutch.

“Or maybe I’ll kill you instead. Your partner ain’t gonna resist; he might make a better hostage. Maybe he’ll enjoy a bit of what you enjoyed back then. A little juice would make him real cooperative. Remember the good ol’ days, Hutch? I could string him out, and he’d follow me everywhere I go, do as I say. Just like a puppet on a string–just like you did. Once we’re in another country, maybe Canada or Mexico, he’ll be of no use to me. If I’m in the mood, maybe I’ll send back word where his family can find his body.

Hutch closed his eyes as if trying to block out the thought of Starsky going through what had happened to him. I really fucked things up this time, Starsk. I should’ve listened when I had the chance. God, if you ‘re really there, I’m in need of a small miracle right about now.

“Say good-bye to your partner, copper.”

Monk raised the barrel of the gun toward Hutch. As if on cue, a shot came through the window, hitting Monk square in the chest. Hutch dove for the floor before Monk could get off a final round as he fell to the ground. A battering ram knocked the front door clean off its hinges, and soon the house was swarming with a dozen uniformed officers shouting orders.

“Get down! Get down! Bay City police! Everybody get on the floor, now!”

Hutch looked up to find three officers surrounding him, with their service revolvers carefully aimed at him. “Get on the floor now!” they ordered.

As much as Hutch desperately wanted to be with his partner, he thought it would be best to do what they told him, then explain himself. “Okay, easy with those things. Someone’s liable to get hurt around here.”

“Just get on the floor and no one will get hurt!” one of them demanded, as he grabbed Hutch by the collar and threw him down onto his stomach.

That one has to be a rookie, Hutch surmised. He clasped his hands together behind his head. “Listen, guys, I’m one of you.”

“Just stay down, punk!” The one Hutch guessed was a rookie, was quick to cuff him, not being all that gentle about it.

“Look, guys, my badge is in my back pocket; see for yourself.”

He felt a hand go into his pocket and pull out his wallet. “Oh, uh, sorry, Detective Hutchinson.” His hands were released and he quickly jumped to his feet.

“Don’t be. You were just doing your job.”

Hutch took back his badge and instructed the young officers. “There’re two more in the basement, one’s shot, the other isn’t. Be careful. They may be armed. There’s also a false cinderblock wall in the rear of the basement, see what’s behind it.”

When the rookies left, Hutch quickly weaved through the melee toward Starsky. Two more uniforms were on their knees next to him, trying to make sense of what had transpired.

“Leave him! Don’t touch him!” Hutch yelled, while waving his badge at them. He pulled the officers away from his friend. “I said don’t touch him. He’s my partner; I’ll take care of him!”

Hutch jerked his thumb toward Monk. “Get this piece of shit out of here. Do what the hell you want with him.” The officers grabbed Monk and pulled him off Starsky and toward the middle of the room, where they began working on his wounds.

Hutch fell to his knees and, ever so gently, turned Starsky’s head so his face wasn’t directly on the carpet. He noticed the rug burns on his chin, nose, and forehead. He leaned down toward his ear.

“Starsk, can you hear me, buddy? Come on, Starsky,” Hutch pleaded. He retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood coming from his partner’s nose. Deciding Starsky’s head wound was bleeding the most, he redirected his attention, all the while talking to his unconscious friend. “Starsky, it’s over. We got Monk and his men. You can wake up now. Please.” There was no response.

When the handkerchief became too saturated with blood to do any good, Hutch jumped up and ran to the kitchen. He retrieved a full ice tray from the freezer and two dish towels that were hanging near the sink and quickly made his way back to Starsky, who hadn’t moved. He folded one of the towels and carefully placed it on the head wound. He wrapped the second one with ice.

“I hate to do this to you, buddy.” He balanced the second towel on the back of Starsky’s neck. He took his handcuff key from his pocket, and when he released Starsky’s hands, they simply fell to his side. Hutch held one towel to Starsky’s head, while massaging the ice filled one on his neck, occasionally going under his shirt and down his back. He hoped the cold would stimulate Starsky back to consciousness.

“Come on, Starsky, you can’t sleep all day. Open your eyes for me,” he pleaded. Hutch knew the blow to the head had to be bad if Starsky wasn’t waking up too easily. Finally, like a ray of light, Hutch saw some eye movement under Starsky’s closed lids.

“That’s it, Starsk, that’s it,” Hutch encouraged, as he continued rubbing Starsky’s neck and back. “Wake up, buddy.”

Slowly regaining consciousness, Starsky tried to pull away from the cold of the ice pack, but his bruised ribs protested any movement. His body stiffened in retaliation. “Mmmf.”

“Easy, buddy. Take it slow.” Hutch took the ice from Starsky’s neck and rubbed over his forehead and down his face. “Can you hear me, Starsk? Huh?” Hutch crooned into his friend’s ear.

Starsky had heard him, but couldn’t yet form the words to let him know. He was having enough trouble opening his eyes, but the ice was helping to bring him around. Finally, after several more minutes of Hutch working on him, to his relief, Starsky forced his eyes opened, but they were unfocused.

“Welcome back, babe.”

Starsky tried turning his head toward Hutch’s voice. “Oh–!” He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the pain to subside. “M’ head!”

“You got a nasty bump there. Lie still; let me move you, okay?”

“You ‘kay, Hush?” The blows Starsky received from Demski netted a fat lip, giving him additional difficulty forming words.

“I’m just fine.”

“W’ get Monk?”

“Yeah, we got him. We got all of them.” Hutch dumped the ice on the floor and used the now damp, cold towel to wipe Starsky’s face, then held it to his bleeding nose.

“I really messed up, huh?” Starsky’s weak voice forced out.

“No, buddy, I messed up. You just got caught in the middle.”

Starsky tried to turn over again. “Oh, Hush, m’ side.” He squeezed his eyes closed and held his breath, waiting for the pain to subside.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Ribs,” Starsky gasped.

“Your ribs?” With great tenderness, Hutch pulled Starsky’s jacket off, then unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the material back. The beginnings of an angry red bruise greeted him. He knew by the next day it would be a darkened purple.

“Looks like Monk sent you a message, Starsk.”

“Message received.” Starsky closed his eyes again. “Ohhh, Hush, I feel like hell.”

“Let me turn you over, maybe you’ll feel better,” Hutch softly explained.

“You’re th’ boss.” While continuing to hold the towel to Starsky’s head, Hutch slowly and carefully turned his partner onto his back, pulling him into his lap at the same time. Starsky slowly released a full breath, letting it out in short puffs, as he cautiously allowed his tense body to relax against Hutch.

“There, feel better, Starsk?”

“Little bit. ‘Cept I gotta use the bathroom.”

Hutch smirked. “Starsky, how many times do I have to tell you to go before leaving the house?” he teased.

“Too worried ’bout you.”

“Well, I appreciate it, buddy, but I’m afraid you’re still going to have to hold it for a little while longer.”

Hutch looked back to check on Monk. To his amazement, although unconscious, Monk was still alive. The uniforms were applying first aid to him until the ambulances arrived.

Die, you bastard Hutch almost couldn’t believe what he was thinking. He realized now why many victims support the death penalty for their attackers.

To Hutch’s relief, he heard ambulance sirens quickly approaching. They arrived in minutes, and soon both Monk and Starsky were being tended to. A third team was directed to the basement.

“Careful with him, guys; he’s has a few bad ribs.”

Hutch looked up at one of the paramedics and was slightly taken back. “Tom! When I said we should get together, I didn’t mean this way,” he teased.

Tom shrugged. “It’s your lucky day, Ken. It was my turn to ride the ambulance instead of the fire truck.”

Tom’s partner busied himself tending to Starsky under Hutch’s watchful eye.

“What happened to your hand, Ken?” Tom gestured toward it with his chin while digging into his medic bag.

“My hand?” He looked at his right hand and, for the first time, realized there was a gaping hole in the knuckle just above the pinky. All this time he’d thought he just had Starsky’s and Coney’s blood on him. He only now realized that most of it was his own.

But what was that sticking out of the wound? He grasped the hard white object and slowly pulled it out and held it up. “Looks like Coney is going to need some dental work.”

“Oh, man, Ken. I’d rather be bitten by a sewer rat. Let me take care of that hand. You can bet the rent you’re in for a nasty infection.”

“Never mind my hand, just take care of my partner.” Hutch returned his attention to Starsky. “You still with me, Starsk?”

“Still here,” Starsky softly answered without opening his eyes. “Takin’ me to the hospital?”

“Afraid so, buddy.”

“Comin’?”

“Of course, I’ll be right with you the entire time.”

“Good. They can fix your hand.”

Hutch narrowed his eyes and grimaced. “You heard, huh?”

Starsky sighed. “Yeah.”

Hutch tenderly stroked the back of his good hand against Starsky’s cheek.

“You just let them take care of you, buddy. I’ll worry about my hand.”

“‘M gonna tell the doctor on you.” Hutch’s hand on his cheek felt so good, Starsky couldn’t help but sigh again.

Hutch gave in. “Okay, you win. I’ll have them look at it.”

“I always win.”

Hutch laughed.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

“I-I really gotta pee.”

Hutch laughed again.

“Ain’t funny, I really gotta go.”

“Not a problem,” Tom chimed in. “We have a bottle in the ambulance you can use.”

Starsky cringed. “I’ll wait.”

While one of the paramedics tended to Starsky’s injuries, Tom bandaged Hutch’s hand. Once ready, with his one good hand, Hutch helped load Starsky onto a stretcher and push it to the waiting ambulance. Tom allowed him to ride in the back.

_*_*_*_

As he contentedly stretched out on Hutch’s sofa in a pair of blue sweat pants and a white shirt, the early evening sun shone through the windows and down on Starsky, as if introducing him to the world. After spending two nights in the hospital, he was sent home in the care of his partner, along with a list of instructions, pain killers, muscle relaxers, and antibiotics.

His latest encounter with Monk netted him a fractured nose and rib, five stitches in his mouth, seven staples in his head, a concussion, and a face full of rug burn. Before picking him up from the hospital, Hutch went to Starsky’s apartment and brought his beta machine back to his own place, remembering to grab the movie and manual sitting on the coffee table. To his own surprise, Hutch somehow managed to hook it up to his own TV.

Starsky was bound and determined-once and for all-to see “Attack of the Killer Tomatoes” through to the end. Since Starsky had suffered a concussion, while hospitalized, his doctor had given him instructions to rest as much as possible, but for the first twenty-four hours, Hutch would have to wake him periodically to check for alertness. The movie had barely started when, still feeling the effects of his ordeal, he couldn’t stop himself from fading out.

_*_*_*_

“Looks like you’re going to need a little extra food in your diet, Ginger. You have three new buds coming up, sweetheart,” Hutch told his orchid. “Beatrice, darling, what’s happening to your leaves? They’re curling up. I’ll have to give you something extra special to spruce you right up again. Maybe piping in a little Frank Sinatra might cheer everyone up in here.”

­Hearing the doorbell, Hutch hung his spider plant on its respective hook, then made his way from the greenhouse to the front door. While passing the couch, he took a quick glance down at his slumbering partner. “Just about time to wake you, anyway.”

Tom Hubbard stood in his doorway dressed in his navy blue firefighter’s service uniform.

“Hi, Tom, come in.” Hutch turned and walked back into his living room with Tom following behind.

“I thought I’d drop by to see how you two were doing before I headed off to the firehouse.”

“Well, Starsky has a broken rib in addition to a few other bumps and bruises, but he’s coming along.”

“That’s great news; I’m glad to hear he’s going to be fine. How’s your hand doing?”

Hutch held up a heavily bandaged hand. “Just like you predicted–an ugly infection set in. I spent a night sharing a room with my partner, while they pumped me full of antibiotics. I’ll be on horse pills for a while.”

“They stitched you up tight, I imagine? That was a nasty hole you had there.”

“Only two loose sutures so any pus can drain. I have to change this thing every few hours.”

Tom shook his head. “And I thought I had it bad on my job.”

Hutch snickered. “Running into burning buildings is having it bad on your job, Tom.”

Tom nodded. “You’re not lying about that.”

“Who you talkin’ to?” A small, tired, raspy voice rose up from the sofa.

Hutch leaned slightly over the back of the couch and down at Starsky. “Tom stopped by. Are you going to wake up, so you can take your medicine and eat something?”

Starsky rubbed his face a few times, stretched, and, with Hutch’s help, eased himself into a sitting position. He held an arm protectively to his ribs and let out a small grunt.

“How are you feeling?”

“Besides feeling like I was run over by a freight train, I’m terrific,” Starsky answered with a scratchy voice and finished with a croupy cough, holding his arm closer to his ribs when he did. He looked up at the television just in time to catch the ending credits to his movie, and just shook his head. “It’s a losing battle,” he grumbled. Starsky then looked toward Tom. “Hi, Tony.”

“It’s Tom, Dan.”

“Dave.”

“Sorry, Dave. That cough doesn’t sound too good.”

“Yeah, well, it goes with my present looks.” Starsky grabbed a few tissues from a box sitting on the coffee table and, as gently as he could, blew his broken nose. “Oh, wow! I don’t recommend doing that.” Starsky closed his eyes and held his breath until the pain subsided.

“Hutch frowned. “Looks like that cold you were fighting finally caught up with you.”

“So, you’ve noticed, Detective.”

“Yes, but don’t you worry, buddy, I have just the thing to fix you right up.”

Starsky moaned. “My mouth is just watering.”

Tom perked up. “Hey, I hear that guy who was shot in that house is actually going to make it.”

“Big damn deal,” Hutch spat out before he could stop himself.

“What was that?” Tom asked.

Starsky looked up at him. “What my partner means is they’re only patching him up so he can go back to jail until he’s too old to remember who he is. He’s one guy you don’t want hanging around the streets.”

“No kidding? What’d he do?”

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other for a moment, searching for the right words. “Drug trafficking, kidnapping and assault, for starters,” Starsky quickly answered without offering any of the specifics.

“Wow! Sounds like a mean dude. I’m glad he won’t be around anymore.”

Tom looked at his watch. “Well, it’s just about time I head out to the firehouse. I’m glad you two are going to be okay. Oh, before I forget, a few of the guys are stopping by on Sunday to watch the Rams. We’re gonna have pizza, beer and other usual football junk food, we’re probably going to be a bit noisy. If you guys are up to it, feel free to drop by.”

Starsky turned to Hutch and smiled. “Hey, that sounds like fun. We could drink a bunch of beer, and just have to stagger ten feet across the hall and we’re home.”

Tom laughed. “That sounds like a plan. Besides, Ken, just the other night you said we should get to know each other better.”

Hutch stood there with his arms crossed. “It sounds great, but it all depends on how my partner’s coming along by then.”

“Aw, come on, Hutch, don’t be such a Nurse Ratchett. Let’s go.”

“Like I said, we’ll see how you feel.”

Starsky rolled his eyes, and Tom just shook his head and smiled.

Tom took a quick look at his watch. “I really need to head out guys. Take care, you two. Maybe I’ll see you again on Sunday.” Tom looked down at Starsky and jerked his head in Hutch’s direction. “Good luck, pal.”

Starsky smirked. “See ya, Tom.”

After Tom left, Starsky looked over at Hutch, who was already in the kitchen. Starsky was none too pleased with him. “Why do you have to be so bossy all the time, especially in front of other people?” he admonished in his scratchy voice.

Hutch returned with a small opened bottle of ginger ale and placed it on the table for Starsky. “You can’t go out if you’re not feeling one hundred percent. You’re sick, remember? You want to get worse?”

“I think I can decide if I can go to a football game or not without your consent, Hutch.” Starsky’s voice was steadily disappearing. He grabbed the bottle of ginger ale and took a sip, hoping it would help his raw throat.” In case you’ve forgotten…” He coughed a few times, then cleared his throat. “I’m not exactly five years old, and you’re not exactly my mother.” Starsky finished with another cough, as he held his arm protectively across his ribs.

Ignoring Starsky’s rant, Hutch calmly picked up a bottle of antibiotics that was sitting on the coffee table. “You’re just about due for these, aren’t you?”

Starsky snatched them from Hutch’s hand. “I can take ’em myself,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but they’ll make you sick if you don’t put something in your stomach first,” Hutch said simply.

Starsky slammed the bottle down on the coffee table, hating that Hutch was right.

“I can heat up some soup. How about if I also make us grilled cheese sandwiches to go along with it? Maybe a hot cup of green tea will help your throat.”

Starsky had his elbow on his knee with his head in his hand. “Fine,” he blurted out. By now, he was barely audible. He wasn’t even sure Hutch had heard him.

Starsky looked up and took a few moments to watch Hutch busy himself in the kitchen, preparing the sandwiches. He couldn’t help but feel his anger slowly melt away. He found himself mentally kicking himself for being so short with Hutch. Starsky, sometimes you can be a real jerk.

Moments later, Hutch returned to the couch with a small tube of Bacitracin and a box of Q-tips. He sat down next to his friend. “I need to check your stitches.”

“They’re fine, Hutch. I can hardly feel them.”

“Well, you can’t be too sure about these things.”

Starsky sat unresisting when Hutch, using his thumb, gently turned up his lip, revealing the sutures in Starsky’s mouth. “Looks good.” Hutch released the lip. “Remember what the doctor said about rinsing with salt and water mixture–three times a day.”

“I know, I know,” Starsky answered.

Hutch stood over Starsky and parted the hair on the top of his head to look at his staples. “Well, so far, so good.”

“I told you they feel fine, Hutch.”

Hutch sat back down and faced Starsky. “Well, they look good, but the rest of you still looks like hell.” He then unscrewed the cap from the tube in his hand and squeezed a small spot of the jelly-like medication onto a Q-tip he’d removed from its box.

Starsky sighed. “Don’t sugar coat it, Hutch. Tell me what you really think of my looks.”

“I just did–you look like hell,” Hutch said with a small smile, as he began to carefully apply the Bacitracin to Starsky’s rug bums. As Hutch applied it to his nose, Starsky winced and pulled away, sucking in a fast breath.

“Oh! Easy, will ya?”

“Sorry, I thought I was being careful.” After taking another minute to finish, Hutch replaced the cap on the tube, laid it on the coffee table, and looked up at his friend. Several spots on his face shined with the ointment, but that still couldn’t hide his pallor or exhaustion.

Hutch placed the back of his hand on his partner’s forehead, then his cheek. “It seems you’re running a slight fever. How about some aspirin?”

Starsky shook his head. “Maybe after we eat.”

Hutch couldn’t help but feel sorry that his friend was in such misery. “You want your muscle relaxers now?” he softly asked.

Starsky shook his head. “I’ll wait ’til I’m ready to go to bed. In the meantime, it’s your turn to be waited on. Don’t go anywhere.”

With Hutch’s help, Starsky slowly rose from the sofa. He went into the bathroom, quickly returning with an armful of bandage dressings and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He sat back down next to Hutch and dropped the bandages on the coffee table. “Now, let me see that hand.”

“Starsk, I already look–”

“Well, I didn’t look at it. Now, your hand, please.” Starsky, who was barely audible, cleared his throat, hoping to get at least some of his voice to return. He sipped more of the ginger ale.

“Don’t you think you should be taking it ea–”

“Your hand,” Starsky demanded.

Hutch grimaced before bringing his hand up. Starsky gently took hold of it and slowly began unraveling the bandages.

“Now that I have your attention, Hutch, you and I are going to finally have our talk, the one that you’ve been dodging for the past few days.”

“That’s doesn’t seem possible, since you hardly have a voice.”

“Nice try, but your luck has run out. You’re going to sit and listen to me and answer a few questions in the meantime.”

Hutch sighed and mentally braced himself for the approaching storm. Ever since he’d made the decision to face Monk alone, he knew sooner or later that he’d have to answer for it.

“Do I have a say in this?”

“No,” Starsky simply stated as he gingerly unwrapped Hutch’s bandages. The gauze lying directly over the wound was soaked with drainage. “I told you this thing needed changin’.” He slowly removed the soiled gauze.

Hutch held his breath. His now swollen and multicolored hand was so tender, even the smallest invasion was painful.

“Hang in there, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Don’t worry about me, just do your thing,” Hutch groaned out.

Starsky soaked some gauze pads with hydrogen peroxide and carefully began cleaning the wound. “Now, Hutch, as I recall, when you were over at my place the other day, we made a deal that we’d find Monk together. Like partners do. I have this distant memory that that’s what you and I are. We are partners, right?”

Hutch looked away, then down at the floor as a wave of guilt approached. “Come on, Starsk, what kind of question is that?”

“If you think that question was tough, then hold onto your britches, because that was just for starters.” Starsky’s voice rose slightly. “I have questions like: What the hell were you thinking, going over to that house by yourself?!”

Hutch’s head came up, and his eyes met with Starsky’s. There was no question, the storm had approached. Even still, Starsky continued gently tending to Hutch’s injured hand, careful of the tender spots. He squeezed a healthy amount of Bacitracin onto a small, two-inch gauze pad and laid it over the wound; he piled more gauze on top of it, then began redressing it.

“Starsk, I–”

“Don’t Starsk me. What would’ve happened if Monk’s men were there and they over-powered you again? You weren’t exactly at your best that day. They could’ve taken you down, easily!”

“At the time, I didn’t think–”

“That’s right, you didn’t think!” Starsky’s voice was slowly disappearing again. He paused to clear it once more, then sipped more ginger ale to wash the phlegm away. “You didn’t think of the dangers involved. You didn’t think like a cop. You didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, if they’d doped you up once before that they could’ve easily done it a second time. Or that they may have just as well killed you. They had a drug operation going on in that basement. Did you bother to think for one second, after he realized who you were, that he was just going to let you walk out of there? You didn’t think that you had a partner who could’ve gone with you and backed you up in case the unknown happened. You didn’t think of the last time you kept secrets from me. Tell me, Hutch, what the hell were you thinking?” Starsky had finished putting the last of the fresh wrappings on Hutch’s hand.

A small flicker of fire lit up in Hutch’s eyes. “I thought for once I’d get revenge on the son of a bitch! You know how so many victims we’ve met have told us that the only justice they wanted was to spend ten minutes alone with their predator? I know how that feels, Starsky, and that’s just what I wanted–to spend ten minutes alone with Monk. And I got that chance. You just wouldn’t understand that how that feels.” Hutch knew his defense was weak.

“Oh, I wouldn’t understand, huh?” Starsky stood up from the sofa and paced in front of it. He tried to hide the pain his rib fracture inflicted on him. “I wouldn’t understand? Like I forgot about Gunther and what he did to me–to us! I forgot he in fact killed a piece of me, right?”

“Starsk–”

“Don’t you think I’d give up everything I own to have ten minutes with him? There wouldn’t be anything left to put back together. Hutch lowered his head again, remembering the most horrible time in their lives, when they had come closer to being separated–forever–than they ever had throughout their entire partnership. Since then, they’d made a pact never to take anything for granted and never to take unnecessary risks. He’d done both, and Starsky was not letting him off so easily.

“But this isn’t about me, Hutch, this is about you and your lack of common sense. You can’t just go ahead and do something like that. You’re a cop, for crying out loud! We’re halfway to retirement. You wanna blow all that away on some punk like Monk?!”

“I didn’t–”

“And furthermore, do you have any idea how worried I was when I found out you went over there alone?” The thought sent a cold ripple throughout Starsky’s body. He had to stop and take a deep breath to compose himself. “My God, they could’ve killed you, Hutch. Didn’t you think about that when you went over there?”

Hutch was subdued. “I guess not.”

“That’s an understatement! You know, there’ve been many times when I thought for sure that I’d lost you for good–either through illness or by some body’s hands. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? Even the mere thought of losing you…I remember the times you were missing and I thought I did lose you.” A sudden lump formed in his throat. Where the hell did that come from? He had to stop for a moment, in order to compose himself. He grabbed for the ginger ale bottle again.

The realization of exactly what he’d done hit Hutch deeper than he ever thought it could. He never took into account how this could’ve turned out, or what effect doing something like this would have on Starsky. His friend spared nothing in telling him. God, when I screw up, I just don’t do it half assed. He couldn’t raise his head to look Starsky square in the eye. If he hadn’t known before that he’d made a bad decision, he sure enough knew now.

“Jesus, Hutch, if I’d a lost you this time, it would’ve been because of your own act of ignorance, just like five years ago.”

By now, Hutch had a hand on his knee, eyes to the floor, and was rubbing his good hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Starsk.” Hutch’s words were barely audible.

“You’re sorry? Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

Hutch really didn’t know what else to say.

Hutch’s apology wasn’t enough to calm Starsky. Still upset with his partner, he walked over to where Hutch was sitting and gave him a shove, and he fell back against the sofa cushions. “I want you to look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Stunned, Hutch could only look up at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Starsky grabbed a fistful of material from the front of Hutch’s shirt, pulled him forward, and shook him. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, HUTCH?! TELL ME!”

Starsky quickly let go of Hutch’s shirt, grabbed his own side, and doubled over. “OHH!” he croaked out, in his broken, raspy voice, at the intense pain. “That was dumb.” The spasms made it difficult for him to catch a full breath—all he could do was take it in and out, in short puffs.

“Starsky!” Forgetting their conversation, Hutch jumped up and was instantly at Starsky’s side.

“Oh, hell, that hurts.” Starsky voice, although barely audible, fully expressed his pain. Hutch wrapped an arm around Starsky and led him back to the couch. “Come on, sit down,” he ordered.

Starsky had no choice but to let Hutch slowly, with great ease, lower him onto the sofa.

“Take it slow, Starsk, just take it slow.” Hutch planted himself next to Starsky’s uninjured side and didn’t let go of him until he could feel his tense muscles finally relax and he was taking full breaths.

“Maybe you should take that muscle relaxer now?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, just give me a minute to catch my breath,” he gasped. He took a few more good breaths. “I think I’m okay now.”

“You sure?”

Starsky nodded. “Yeah.” Then he used the back of his hand to wipe a sheen of sweat from his forehead. He took a few more moments to compose himself and rethink what just went down between him and Hutch. Again, he was mentally kicking himself for being so rough on his best friend, but he still wasn’t done making his point clear. He finally continued, “Now where were we?”

Hutch’s face soured. “Starsk,” he pleaded.

Listen to me,” Starsky insisted. “Hutch, look at me.”

Hutch, whose eyes were lowered to the floor again, slowly raised his head until he finally met Starsky’s gaze.

“You’re the most important person in the world to me, Blondie-you’re my brother. Maybe not my flesh and blood, but in my heart and soul you’re my brother.”

Hutch suddenly felt his own face flush. Starsky continued, “If anything were to happen to you, I don’t know how I’d be able to go on.”

Starsky put a hand on Hutch’s thigh and rubbed it affectionately. “It would hurt me worse than all of Gunther’s bullets combined. It would absolutely kill me.” Starsky stopped to compose himself again. He took a few good breaths and continued. “Promise me, Hutch, promise me you’ll never shut me out again. Promise me if you ever have a crisis, you’ll call me instead of going off like you did and put yourself in danger like that.”

Hutch sighed, then nodded in agreement. He covered Starsky’s hand with his own. “Okay,” he meekly agreed, “I promise.” What else could he say? Hutch knew Starsky was right. How could he argue with him? He knew he wouldn’t win anyway.

Starsky leaned further toward Hutch. “You better, Hutch, because if you ever do something like that again, I’m going to take the liberty of kicking your ass from one end of town to the other. You got me?”

“If I were to do something that dumb again, I wouldn’t stop you.” Hutch looked up at Starsky, finally realizing that it was solely his own actions that had caused Starsky’s injuries. With the palm of his hand, he gently caressed Starsky’s face, then softly smoothed his hand down along side of it, ending at his chin.

“I mean, look at you. It should be me sitting here all banged up, not you.” Hutch looked away, shaking his head in disbelief. “I should be the one with the broken rib. Look at what I caused you.”

“Don’t, Hutch. Don’t start doing that to yourself again. It’s just a few bumps and bruises. I’ll heal. I’m not mad about that. You’re worth every bit of it, so don’t.”

“Just a few bumps? You’ve got broken bones, lacerations and–”

“Hutch! You want me to start kicking your ass now?”

Hutch stopped and looked at Starsky. He knew the smirk on his friend’s face was to dull the harshness of his statement.

Hutch allowed himself to relax some. “No.”

Now Starsky detected a small smile on Hutch’s face. Attempting to change the subject, Starsky cleared his throat. “Good, because it wouldn’t’ve been pretty. Don’t worry about me. Compared to all the years of torture I’ve taken, this is just a mere walk in the park. So forget it. Okay?”

Hutch took a moment to absorb what Starsky had said. He decided he wasn’t going to dwell on it any longer, if for no other reason than to appease Starsky. It wasn’t going to stop the guilt that had been steadily growing inside, ever since he first spotted Starsky lying on the floor of Monk’s living room. He was just going to make amends in his own way, which was going to take time. Hutch nodded. “Okay.”

“Now that we’ve cleared the air here, how about those grilled cheese sandwiches and that soup you promised? I’m getting hungry.”

Hutch looked down at his folded hands sitting in his lap and smiled shyly. “Does this mean you’re not mad at me any more?”

Starsky rolled his eyes and sighed. “Come here, dummy.” He laid an arm across Hutch’s shoulders and pulled him close, then planted a wet kiss on his temple.

Hutch’s shy smile turned into a wide grin. He put his arm around Starsky’s shoulder and returned the squeeze.

“You know I was never mad at you, just worried beyond belief. You just scared the hell out of me is all. I had to let you know that.”

“And you did, that’s for sure.”

“And I went light this time. Next time…” With his free hand, Starsky made a cutting motion across his throat. “.. .it’s curtains for you, Blintz.”

Hutch let out a short laugh.

“Now, before I die of starvation, where’s that lunch you promised me?”

“You got it.” Hutch got up and went into the kitchen. He placed a buttered pan on the lit stove, then put the cheese sandwiches he’d prepared earlier in the pan. He watched Starsky, playing with the wire remote to the beta max machine.

“Are you finally giving up on that movie?”

Starsky shook his head without looking up from the television. “Nope. I paid good money for this movie, and, as soon as it finishes rewinding, I’m going to play it again.” He grabbed the ginger ale bottle from the coffee table and finished it off.

Hutch moaned. “Whoever heard of a bunch of wild tomatoes hurling themselves at unsuspecting citizens?”

“It’s good stuff, Hutch. The best part is when this detective goes undercover as a tomato and infiltrates the shady bunch. He almost blows his cover when he asks for a bottle of ketchup for his hamburger.”

Hutch laughed. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, I’m not kiddin’ ya. Come and watch it with me, it’s good stuff.”

“Mmm hmm, sure it is. It’s just as good as that gigantic moth flying around Japan, eating all the clothing off the clotheslines.”

Starsky laughed. “Come on, Hutch, you know that’s not what happens.”

Hutch also laughed.

Starsky looked toward the kitchen to see Hutch pull a large, orange Tupperware container from his refrigerator and bring it to the stove.

“Hey, whatcha got there?”

“Homemade chicken soup,” Hutch called back.

Starsky smiled. “You made me chicken soup? That’s sweet of you, pal.”

Hutch put a pot on the stove and started pouring the soup from the Tupperware container into it. “Well, not exactly.” He turned the burner on low, covered the pot, and left it to simmer.

“Oh, did Huggy send it?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“The Dobey’s?”

“No.”

Starsky furrowed his eyebrows. “Then just who made the homemade chicken soup?”

Hutch hesitated a few moments before answering. “Your Aunt Rosie sent it over. She made enough to last the week. She said to make sure you eat plenty of it.”

Starsky immediately paled, and his mouth dropped open. “Are you talking about my Aunt Rosie?”

“Well, it wasn’t my Aunt Rosie.”

Starsky chuckled. “This is a joke, right?”

Hutch shook his head. “Nope.”

Starsky could only sit there speechless. He couldn’t see Hutch’s smile with his back turned toward him. Starsky put his hand on his stomach, swallowed hard, and proclaimed softly to himself, “Just when I thought things were looking up.”

The End