Sophists on Stakeout

“If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there, does it make a sound?”

Beta’d by the stalwart and faithful Sc_fossil.

“If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there, does it make a sound?”

Hutch groaned, lowered the binoculars, and turned to his partner. “What are you reading now, Starsk? Socrates Made Simple? The Illustrated Guide to Existentialism?”

Starsky gave him a dirty look. “Aw, c’mon, Blintz, just answer the question. What do you think?”

“I think I don’t want to do this. I’m tired, Starsk, and this stakeout’s been long and boring enough as it is.”

“That’s exactly why we should do this,” Starsky replied smugly. “It’ll keep you awake and, you know, expand your brain.”

Hutch snorted, muttered something impolite about brains and the metaphysical expanding thereof, and went back to watching the house across the street. Manuel Javier had yet to appear at his girlfriend’s, and both Starsky and Hutch were starting to believe he wasn’t going to show. It had only been a few days since the convict had given prison guards the slip during a routine transfer, but if he had any sense, he’d have gotten out of the jurisdiction just as fast as he could. But Huggy’s snitch had been insistent: No way Javier was going to blow town without his amante. Or at least, not without whatever he had stashed with her before his capture and incarceration: cash, probably, or maybe drugs. There had been a conspicuous lack of either when Manny was arrested a couple of months ago, and there should have been a considerable quantity of one or the other, if not both. Daisy Cortez, his on-again, off-again mistress, had vehemently denied knowing anything whatsoever about Manny’s illegal activities or a cache of goods. The detectives from Vice were skeptical, but they had searched the house and found nothing.

It wasn’t a particularly dark evening, but a broken street light and a low-branched tree gave them enough cover to conduct their surveillance without attracting unwanted attention in the quiet neighborhood. Daisy’s place was a small but well-kept cottage, with an attached carport, a patch of lawn, and an honest-to-goodness white picket fence around it. It seemed someone took pains to keep the place maintained; there was a fresh coat of paint on the house, and the fence looked fairly new. There was a large picture window with lacy curtains in front, and when the lights were on, the interior lit up like a stage. From their vantage point, it had been easy for the detectives to keep an eye on Daisy, not that she was doing anything remotely worth watching. She moved around, from kitchen to living room and back again, doing normal, unremarkable domestic things. After dinner, she’d sat in front of the TV, her blank, bored face lit a garish blue-white by the tube. When she got up and disappeared into the back, Hutch sighed and put down the binoculars again.

“In the bathroom. She’ll be there for an hour, at least,” he said. “Just like the other nights.”

“Okay, then,” Starsky said eagerly. “So if a tree falls–”

“I don’t want to hear it, Starsk!” Hutch pleaded.

“But that’s just it,” Starsky said, pleased as punch, as though Hutch had said something profound. “If no one is there to listen, it doesn’t make a sound. Because for there to be a sound, there has to be someone there to hear it.”

“Wha–” Hutch began, but stopped. Philosophy 101 lectures came back to him in fragments, and in a strange sort of Starsky-logic way, the explanation made sense. He could feel a headache coming on.

“O’ course,” Starsky was saying, “you know it really does make a sound. I mean, it stands to reason, right? It hits the ground, boom! It’s gotta make a noise. Unless it landed on something really soft, but still–”

“Starsky!” Hutch interrupted, desperately trying to forestall the inevitable. “It doesn’t matter!”

“Well, there now, you’re right, Hutch. ‘Cause whether or not it makes a noise, if no one is there to hear it, it’s completely irrelevant. It doesn’t matter.” As Starsky paused thoughtfully, Hutch closed his eyes and leaned his head back and tried to will away the tension gathering behind his eyes.

“But if it doesn’t matter, then why do they ask the question in the first place, huh?”

Hutch’s eyes and mouth snapped open to reply, but he stared wordlessly for a moment instead. Then, with a hint of relief, he said, “Why don’t you ask him, partner?”

Starsky looked out the window, and there, standing beside the stoop, peering around nervously, was Manny.

“Well, I’ll be damned. He actually showed up, the dummy. So, shall we go bust his ass?”

Hutch had the binoculars back up to his eyes, and was watching carefully as Javier, instead of entering the house, made his way furtively to the side of the carport. “Wait a sec. Let’s see what he’s doing.” Manny slipped in past Daisy’s Nova coupe. “Looks like he’s rummaging in the storage cabinet.”

Starsky frowned. “His stuff couldn’t be in there, could it?”

“Nah, the carport was covered in the search warrant, and… hold on, he’s coming back out.” Javier reappeared, with a shovel in his hands. After another nervous glance around, he headed for the back of the house.

“I don’t believe it. He buried it, the little gopher.” Hutch shook his head. “You’d think the team that executed the warrant would have checked for new holes in the yard. Unless…” He looked at Starsky, who nodded.

“Unless it’s one of them fence post holes,” Starsky finished. “Or maybe more than one. If they all looked newly dug, no one would have been the wiser. Huh. Not bad for a two-bit pusher, I guess.” He waved his arm in a grand, sweeping gesture, “Well, shall we?”

Hutch dipped his head in a mock bow, and responded, “We shall indeed.” They got out of the car. “Hey, Starsk.” At Starsky’s inquiring glance, he dead-panned, “When you ask Manny about the tree thing, you might want to find out what he thinks about the sound of one hand clapping, too.”

“One hand cla–, wait, what?” Starsky rounded the front of the car, and stood looking at Hutch, puzzled.

“Ah, remind me to get you Buddhism in Ten Easy Steps for your birthday,” Hutch laughed as Starsky swatted him on the arm. “Let’s go get ‘im, partner.”

Starsky grinned. “Right with you, babe.”