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A couple of Hutch’s old college buddies are in town for dinner. What will they think of Starsky?

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“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.”
  –Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

I.

The phone on Starsky’s end table clanged loudly as the hand that desperately grabbed for it accidentally knocked it to the floor.

“Hello?” Hutch grunted as the cradle of the phone dangled mid-air from the twisted cord.

“Hutchinson, what in the hell are you doing there?” Captain Dobey’s gruff voice barked over the line.

Hutch bent over and collected the tangled mess and sat heavily on the couch. “I’m waiting for Starsky. He’s not here, Cap.”

“I KNOW that.” Dobey sighed. “I’m calling for you.”

Hutch paused, confused. “Well, how’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t.”

The confusion grew. “Why would you call Starsky’s looking for me?”

“Because I couldn’t find you anywhere else, Hutchinson!” Dobey’s tone grew more agitated. “And where the hell else are you usually when you’re not at home?”

Hutch shrugged. “Starsky’s.”

“Exactly.”

“But he’s not here, Cap. I’m waiting for him to come…”

An angry growl coursed through the phone line, cutting Hutch off. “I told you, I KNOW he’s not there. Hutchinson, are you even listening to me?”

Realizing something was wrong, Hutch swallowed hard, concern filling his voice. “What is it?”

“It’s Starsky.” Dobey’s voice softened.

“What about Starsky?” Hutch lurched forward to the edge of the couch.

“He’s been hurt, Hutch.”

“Hurt? What…”

“He’s going to be OK. I’m at Memorial with him now. Meet me in the Emergency Room. I’ll explain it when you get here.”

Hutch slowly stood. “I don’t understand. I was just–what happened?”

“Just get down here, Hutch.”

“He’s OK?”

“He’s going to be.”

“I’ll–I’ll be right there.”

Hutch gently placed the receiver in its cradle and stared at it for a moment, blinking in disbelief. Starsky, hurt? What could have happened? It had only been a couple of hours since he’d seen him.

“It’s that car. He’s wrecked that goddamned car again. Starsky, I swear to God…”

Hutch stopped the tirade to himself, and, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, bolted out the door and down the steps.

It was a long drive to Memorial. Despite the siren and mars light thrown haphazardly on the roof, the traffic was unusually heavy for this time of night and Hutch was getting nowhere fast.

“Son of a bitch!” He cursed as he maneuvered around four lanes of traffic. “Freakin’ Lakers’ game. Get the hell out of my way!” He screamed out the window to the car in front of him. The driver simply held up his hands in despair, as he had nowhere to go to get out of the flashing light’s path.

“I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake! Can’t you people see that?” Hutch banged his fist against the steering wheel. He shook his head as he stared out the window at the still traffic. Taking a steadying breath, he rubbed at his temples with his pointer finger and thumb, trying to remain calm. He’d been looking forward to this evening for over a week. It was going to be a perfect night spent with Starsky and two of his old college buddies who were in town for a few nights. They were going to hang out and catch up on what had happened over the years, and he’d wanted them to meet Starsk. He never expected it to end in such disaster. God, what had gone wrong?

Hutch sighed and took another look at the sea of traffic, searching for a way out. No such luck. He gripped the steering wheel and rested his forehead on its edge in frustration. Why had he even forced Starsky to go along? He hadn’t wanted to, right from the start.

 *~*~*

“I don’t wanna tag along to some she-she foo-foo French restaurant, Hutch, with your fancy-schmancy friends.” Starsky straddled the green metal chair behind his desk and plunked down. “What could we possibly have in common?”

“Starsk, it’ll be great. You’ll see.” Hutch smiled as he pulled a completed report from the typewriter.

“I can see it now.” Starsky stiffened his lower jaw and put on a stuffy accent. “Why, yes, Kenneth, it’s simply mahvelous. My beautiful wife Sylvia and our extraordinary children, Buffy, Muffy and Winston, heir to the Brockenheimer throne, don’t you know, are all living in our 5.6 million dollar home with our staff of servants, sipping Mimosas by the pool each day and snickering at the working poor.” His head bobbed to the stiff rhythm of his words. “And how do you spend your free time, Mr. Stahsky?” He relaxed his face and scratched at his jaw. “Oh, you know, driving around in my banged-up Torino. Busting my ass to pay the rent each month. Pass the plate of snails, would ya, please?”

“Escargot.” Hutch sat back in his chair, arms folded, watching his partner with absolutely no amusement.

Starsky blinked. “Huh?”

“Your plate of snails, it’s called Escargot.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that.” Hutch shook his head and handed Starsky the report to sign.

Starsky took the report and began searching his desk for a pen. “I just don’t think so, pal. I appreciate your asking, though.”

Hutch watched his partner impatiently sift through his pencil drawer in search of a writing utensil. Not finding one, the violet eyes shifted in his direction and stared helplessly at him.

“Starsk, these were my two best friends in college.” Hutch produced a pen from his jacket pocket and passed it across the desk. “You know I’d never be friends with someone like that. They’re really great. You’ll see. Come with us.”

Starsky nervously tapped the pen against his desk, holding the report in front of his face and reading as he spoke. “People change, Hutch. Money does weird stuff to ya.” He glanced at Hutch, chuckling at something he read. “Oh, man, that was good. Did you see the look on that guy’s face when…”

“Starsk…”

Hutch’s probing stare caused the crooked smile to fade, and Starsky returned his eyes to the report. “What’d you say they do again?”

“Teddy’s a plastic surgeon, and Biff…”

“Biff?” Starsky’s head shot from around the report. “Did you just say Biff?”

Hutch grimaced. “Yeah. But that’s just his nickname. His real name’s Bartholomew.”

“Oh, well, that’s better then.” Starsky rolled his eyes and signed the report.

“Bartholomew has started his own marketing firm.”

“Uh-huh.” Starsky grabbed the report and stood, nodding his head in the direction of Captain Dobey’s office. Hutch took the cue and stood as well, following.

“Come on, Starsk.” He placed his hand over Starsky’s as he reached for the doorknob to Dobey’s office. “I’d really like them to meet you.”

“Hutch…” Starsky turned the knob and pushed the door open with his shoulder, taking note of the empty office.

Hutch followed Starsky to Dobey’s desk. “Look, if you come, I’ll eat at that taco stand for a whole month–no complaints–you know, the one with all the fly paper?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll–I’ll wash and wax the Torino.” Hutch trailed around Dobey’s desk as Starsky placed the report neatly on the ink blotter, glancing at his calendar.

“Well, would ya look at that.” Starsky smiled. “He’s got an appointment with the cafeteria’s dietician Tuesday.”

Hutch sighed. “I’ll–I’ll introduce you to Louise’s friend Lisa.”

“Lisa?” Starsky looked up from the calendar.

“Oh, man, she’s great.” Hutch nodded. “You’ll love her.”

Starsky bit his lip and thought for a moment. “It’s really that important to ya, huh?”

“It’s really that important to me.”

“All right. I’ll go meet Bart.” Starsky headed for the door.

“Biff.” A satisfied smile formed on Hutch’s lips as he followed.

“Biff. Biff. ” Starsky mimicked and turned around. “But I’m not eating Estcor–Etsrog–I’m not eating snails.” He exited the office, leaving Hutch grinning broadly.

 *~*~*

A space cleared in the traffic and Hutch maneuvered the LTD through the lane of cars.

“I’m coming, Starsk. Just please be OK.”

 

II.

Hutch slid the battered LTD to a stop by the curb just outside of the Emergency Room entrance. He leaped out, grabbing the mars light and throwing it through the driver’s window before heading toward the sliding glass doors.

“Hey, buddy, you can’t park there. You’ll be towed.” An orderly pushing an older gentleman in a wheelchair called out as Hutch flew past him.

“Police officer!” Hutch shouted and haphazardly flashed his badge.

The orderly shook his head and continued pushing the wheelchair. “You’ll still be towed,” he muttered.

The triage nurse sitting behind the Emergency Room desk wore her long brown hair pulled back in a loose braid. Her reading glasses hung around her neck on a silver chain and a gold pin simply bearing the name Judy was fastened to the collar of her pink polyester blouse. She laughed into the phone that was snugly tucked between her chin and her shoulder and plucked at her brightly polished fingernails as Hutch frantically approached the desk.

“I’m looking for…” He stopped mid-sentence as a long finger was held bolt upright in front of him, indicating he should wait.

“Yes, Agnes. It is busy here tonight. But nothing I can’t handle.” Judy said into the phone, her eyes focused on Hutch.

Hutch blinked at the finger. “I’m–I’m looking for my partner,” he tried again.

The finger once again stabbed at the air. “Oh, you know, just the usual. There’s a nasty stomach flu going around, got a lot of that coming in,” Judy continued her conversation.

“Lady, please!” Hutch yelled this time, his voice a high-pitched whine as his patience wore thin. A hush fell over the crowded waiting area and all eyes turned in his and Judy’s direction.

“Hold on, Agnes.” Judy blinked at him, lowering her finger and hitting the hold button. Smiling tightly over his shoulder at the others in the room, she sighed and placed the receiver down on her desk. “May I help you?”

“Yes. My partner–I’m looking for my partner.”

“Your partner got a name?”

Hutch squinted at the blatant rudeness. “Starsky. Dav-David Starsky. He was brought in a few hours ago.”

Judy placed her reading glasses on the tip of her nose and turned her attention to a list of names in front of her, running her finger slowly down the sheet. Her finger stopped at a name and she looked up. “He’s the police officer?”

Hutch ran his hand over his face in frustration. “Lady, how many David Starsky’s you got on there?”

Judy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, biting at her lip and saying nothing.

Hutch closed his eyes and drew in a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. He opened his eyes and attempted a polite smile. “Yes, David Starsky, the police officer. He’s my partner. He was hurt. I’m trying to find him.”

“He’s being transferred to a room.” Judy leaned forward and reached for the phone receiver. “Have a seat,” she jutted her chin toward the waiting area and placed the phone back to her ear.

Hutch reached over the desk and gently but firmly lowered Judy’s hand. “Can you tell me WHAT room… please?”

Judy jerked her hand away from his grip. “No, I cannot. But if you have a seat, the doctor will be out momentarily with that information.”

That was it, Hutch’s last nerve. He sighed heavily and looked back at the crowded waiting room, shaking his head. His eyes snapped to an electric blue and he turned sharply in Judy’s direction. “Look… Judy…” he squinted at her nametag, his tone eerily calm. “I’m having a very difficult night, and you are not making it any easier.” He shifted his weight and leaned in closer. “Right now I am concerned about finding my partner. And, let me assure you, I WILL find my partner. If I have to roust every goddamned patient you’ve got in this hellhole of a hospital, I WILL find my partner.” His finger absently waved in the air as he began his final salvo. “But you can also rest assured that once I’ve found my partner and I’m satisfied that he’s OK, I’m coming back.” His eyes narrowed and his head angrily bobbed. “I’m coming back for you, Judy… for you and your pathetic little job. Do I make myself clear?”

Judy simply blinked up at him.

“Do I make myself clear?” His voice once again rose, causing another hush to fall over the waiting area.

“Well, that was completely uncalled for.” Judy smirked, removed her glasses and stood, meeting his intense stare. “Your threats don’t work here, buster. I told you, I don’t know what room your partner has been moved to. If I did know, I would certainly tell you so that you would take yourself and your rude attitude and get the hell out of my waiting room. I strongly suggest that you have a seat.” Still clutching the receiver in her hand, she waved it in the direction of the security guard sipping coffee in the corner. “Or, police officer or no, you will be removed.” She tugged at the hem of her blouse and sat down. “The doctor should be here shortly.”

Hutch snorted and opened his mouth to begin another tirade, but was stopped by a firm grip on his shoulder.

“Hutch?” Captain Dobey raised an eyebrow at him and at Judy. “What’s going on?”

Hutch glanced sideways at Judy, who sat staring angrily at him, the phone receiver placed back to her ear and her finger suspended over the hold button. “Nothing, Cap,” he muttered and steered Dobey away from the desk. “Where’s Starsk?”

“They just moved him to a room.”

Hutch ignored Judy’s exaggerated chuff behind him. “Is he OK?”

“He’ll be all right.” Dobey nodded and started toward the elevator. “Come on, I told the doctor you’d be here.”

The elevator doors slid closed. “What floor?” Hutch asked.

“Eight.”

“Cap, what the hell happened?”

Dobey sighed and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. “He was on his way home, apparently, and heard on the radio that a suspect in a convenience store holdup was being chased down Rutger Street by two patrolmen on foot.” He wiped the sweat off his brow and stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “He was only a block away and decided to assist. It just so happened that as he rounded the corner to turn onto Rutger, he saw the assailant flee into an old house that’s being torn down. He went in after him.”

“Yeah?” Hutch’s eyes widened.

Dobey shook his head. “Why the hell he would go in there without backup is beyond me.”

Hutch clutched at Dobey’s jacket sleeve. “Cap, what happened?”

Dobey glanced up at the worried eyes. “He was ambushed. Got hit between the shoulders with a two-by-four or something and it knocked the wind out of him. The suspect got in a couple of good kicks before Starsky was able to get up. But he was shaky, and the asshole pushed him down a flight of concrete steps into the basement.”

“Jesus.” Hutch winced, envisioning the scene. “How bad is he hurt?”

“Couple of cracked ribs, a split lip, some bad bruises, cuts and scrapes. His wrist is broken.”

“His wrist?”

“Yep.”

“Which one?” Hutch asked, wondering why it mattered.

“His left.” Dobey sighed. “And you know he’s gonna milk that for all it’s worth.”

“Yeah.” Hutch grinned at the comment, knowing it was true. Relieved to hear that his partner’s injuries weren’t life threatening, yet not completely satisfied, he teetered nervously from foot to foot and stared anxiously at the floor indicator above the door.

Dobey watched the nervous dance and placed a hand on his detective’s upper arm. “He’s all right, Hutch. I just talked to him. He’s fine.”

Hutch nodded once and watched the indicator switch from six to seven.

“What’s going on with you two anyway?” Dobey asked.

“Huh?” Hutch shot a confused look at his captain. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you have a fight or something?”

“No.” Hutch shook his head, then reconsidered. “Not really. I mean–well, I don’t know. Sort of, I guess.”

“Thought so.” Dobey nodded.

“How’d you know?”

“Well,” the elevator stopped on the eighth floor and the doors opened, “when he woke up…”

“Woke up?” Hutch questioned as they stepped off the elevator and Dobey led the way down the corridor. “He was unconscious?”

“They were CONCRETE steps, Hutchinson. His head’s hard, but it’s not that hard. The patrolmen found him out cold. It’s just a damn good thing he radioed in before he bolted into that house, or he’d probably still be there, no one the wiser.” Dobey stopped walking and turned to face Hutch. “You know that was just dumb–going in there all by himself. Dumb!”

Hutch exhaled an impatient long breath. “Cap, what happened when he woke up?”

Dobey, who’d lost his train of thought in his chastising, looked confused. “Huh?”

“Starsky–when he woke up, what happened?”

“Oh. Oh, right.” Dobey nodded. “Well, I figured he’d want you here with him, and I knew you’d want to be here, but I couldn’t find you. So I asked him if he knew where you were and he told me not to bother.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He said you were busy, to leave you alone.”

“Oh, God.” Hutch lowered his chin to his chest and shook his head.

“Look,” Dobey started walking again, Hutch following. “I don’t wanna know what goes on between you two outside of work. It’s none of my business.” They stopped at the nurses’ station. “Just, whatever it is, get it straightened out before he comes back to work, huh? When you two are fighting, life’s a living hell for the rest of us.”

“Hi again, Captain.” A dark haired man with a slight Spanish accent stood from a chair behind the desk. “This must be David’s partner.”

Dobey nodded. “That’s right. Dr. Arribas, this is Ken Hutchinson.”

The doctor extended his hand and grasped Hutch’s in a firm shake. “Nice to meet you, Ken. Vicente Arribas.”

“Hi,” Hutch nodded and smiled down at the considerably shorter man. “How is he?”

“Not bad. Not bad at all, considering.” Dr. Arribas returned the smile. “He is pretty banged up, but nothing a little rest won’t take care of. A broken wrist that we had to set, but I think that’ll heal just fine.” He reached behind the desk and picked up Starsky’s chart, looking at it thoughtfully. “No sign of serious head injury. We’re going to keep him for a day or two just to be safe.”

“Can I see him?”

“I don’t see why not.” The doctor shrugged and snapped the chart shut. “The nurses are getting him settled now. But they should be done in a few minutes, then you can go in for a bit.” He took Hutch by the elbow and guided him to a chair. “Just have a seat.”

Hutch sat down willingly. “Thank you.”

Dr. Arribas smiled and winked. “You bet. Oh, and he’s had a shot of Demerol for pain, so don’t be surprised if he’s a little loopy. I’ll send a nurse for you when he’s ready.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Captain Dobey clapped him on the back as he walked away. “Well,” he grunted, staring down at Hutch. “I’m going home. You all right?”

Hutch leaned his head against the wall and sighed. “Yeah, Cap. I’m OK.”

Dobey fished in his pocket for his car keys. “Just don’t stay here all night. There’s nothing you can do, and he needs to rest.”

“Right.”

Dobey headed toward the elevator, then spun on his heel. “And I’ll see you at work tomorrow afternoon. This won’t get you the day off. Nothing broken on you.”

“Right.” Hutch chuffed. “Cap?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

 

III.

Hutch watched Dobey’s stern face disappear behind the elevator doors. Sitting back in the hard plastic chair, he stretched out his legs and stared down the hospital corridor, wondering which of the rooms in the seemingly endless row of doorways contained his partner. A broken wrist and cracked ribs meant Starsky was going to be nothing short of unbearable for days. He envisioned the disgruntled lump nestled deep into the couch cushions, blanket pulled up to his chin, his wrist dramatically propped up on a pillow, an exaggerated grimace and groan elicited with every move. Let the fun times begin.

Hutch snickered and shook his head, staring down at his polished black loafers and new linen pants. He’d bought the creased tan trousers especially for tonight, along with the crisp dark green shirt that had become half untucked at some point. He fingered one of the white buttons, remembering how he’d had FiFi wash it for comfort sake, then starch it so it wouldn’t wrinkle. He laughed at his foolishness, realizing that he’d allowed himself to be hoodwinked by those two morons he used to call friends. He really had cared what they thought of him and the choices he’d made in his life but was too blind to admit it to himself. But Starsky had known what was going on. There wasn’t much he could get past Starsky.

 *~*~*

“Nice outfit.” Questioning eyes roamed over Hutch from head to toe.

“Thanks.” Hutch brushed his hair off his forehead and patted his pants pockets.

“What ya looking for?”

“My wallet.”

“It’s over there,” Starsky pointed toward the kitchen counter. “You buying?”

“For you and me, yes.” Hutch grabbed the worn leather wallet and tucked it in his back pocket. “Maybe a round of drinks.”

Starsky stiffened. “You don’t have to buy my dinner. I can get it. I make as much as you do, you know.”

“Starsk…” Hutch patted his pockets again. “Keys?”

“Coffee table.”

“Right.” Hutch sauntered to the living room. The keys jangled in his hand as he headed for the door. He turned to see Starsky still in the kitchen. “You coming?”

“I can buy my own dinner.”

“Fine, buy your own dinner.” Hutch threw up his arms and sighed. “I just thought…”

“You just thought it was too much for me to handle.”

“No, I just thought it would be nice to buy my buddy dinner.” Hutch grumbled as he opened the door. “You don’t want me to buy you dinner, it’s fine by me.” He narrowed his eyes at Starsky. “What’s up with you anyway? Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Like what?” Starsky bristled, not moving from the kitchen.

“Defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“Good. Then brush the chip off your shoulder and get a move on, would ya?” Hutch held the door open and waited as Starsky slowly moved across the living room.

“I’m taking my own car.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause.” Starsky brushed past Hutch and headed down the stairs. “You three princes might want to go somewhere afterward, and this pauper might not.”

“Fine.” Shaking his head, Hutch rolled his eyes and shut the door.

They arrived at Chez Michele’s at a little after 7:00. The reservations had been made in Ted Volinsky’s name. The maître d’ informed Starsky and Hutch that he and another gentleman had already arrived and had been seated, then led them to the table. Starsky stood back and watched as the threesome enthusiastically greeted each other, hugging, laughing, and clapping each other on the back.

“God, it’s good to see you.” Hutch clasped one of their hands in a firm shake. “You look good.”

“So do you, Ken.” The man smiled and turned to Starsky. “And this must be…”

Hutch smiled proudly at Starsky. “This is David Starsky, my partner. Dave, this is Biff Witson.”

“Dave?” Starsky mouthed, shooting a questioning look at Hutch, then smiling and taking Biff’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Biff. Ken here’s told me a lot about you.”

Hutch winced at the unfamiliarity of being called Ken by his partner.

“And you must be Ted.” Starsky took the initiative to greet the other man, who stood off to the side.

“Must be,” Ted laughed. “Good to meet you. We’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“All good I hope.”

“Oh, the best,” Ted nodded. “You’ve got some pretty high expectations to live up to.”

“Terrific.” Starsky mumbled.

“Let’s sit,” Biff pulled out a chair for Hutch and slid into his own seat. Starsky sat in the chair next to Hutch, fidgeting with his tie and watching as the threesome exchanged small talk.

The conversation had turned to Biff and Ted’s families with pictures of wives and kids making rounds across the table. Starsky smiled politely and commented on the pictures, trying to register in his head all the names that had been bandied about.

“So, Dave,” Biff took a sip of his wine. “Ken tells us you’re originally from New York.”

“That’s right.” Starsky nodded.

“From the city?”

“Just outside, actually.”

“Well, I just love New York City,” Ted added. “Did you go to NYU?”

Starsky grinned uncomfortably. “Uh, no, I didn’t.”

“SUNY then?”

“Nope.” Starsky shook his head and lifted his wine glass. “I went to HKU.”

“HKU?” Ted raised an eyebrow.

“Yep,” Starsky took a sip of his wine.

“Never heard of it. Where is that?”

“Hard Knocks University. They got campuses all over.” Starsky smiled, expecting laughter. He was surprised to hear only a snicker… from Hutch.

“So you didn’t go to college? Is that what you mean?” Biff shot a questioning, distasteful look at Hutch.

“That’s what I mean.” Starsky looked at Hutch as well.

Hutch shifted uncomfortably, wondering why he felt compelled to explain Starsky’s past. “Dave was in the Army. Then he became a cop.”

“Oh, well,” Biff looked unimpressed. “You had to forgo your education to serve your country. Noble.” Sarcasm hung heavily in the air.

“Noble indeed,” Ted nodded and turned to Biff. “You know, my parents still have some of our old protest signs in the garage.”

“Oh, God, those protests,” Biff chimed in. “Those were really great, weren’t they?”

His involvement in the Vietnam protests was not something Hutch had ever discussed with Starsky. He said nothing and turned an apologetic look in his partner’s direction, noticing Starsky clench his jaw and stare at his wine glass as he twirled it by the stem, obviously fighting the urge to tell Biff and Ted what they could do with their protest signs.

“Dave graduated third in our class at the Academy.” Hutch blurted out, knowing the statement didn’t fit with the conversation and sounded a bit too defensive.

“Oh?” Biff questioned. “Really?”

Starsky felt his cheeks flush and turned a sharp glance at Hutch. “Yeah,” he said, “right behind Blondie over here.”

“Blondie!” Biff and Ted guffawed simultaneously.

“Is that what you go by these days? Blondie?” Biff continued to snicker.

“Among other things.” Hutch laughed nervously and watched Starsky slowly sit back in his chair and blow out a long breath, turning his attention to the wall.

“Well, Dave, I’ll bet you’re just full of ’em,” Ted winked. “Ken tells us you’ve got quite the sense of humor.”

“And I’ll bet you’re just full of it,” Starsky murmured, his gaze never shifting from the wall.

“How’s that?” Ted leaned in closer.

Hutch kicked Starsky’s shin under the table, jolting his attention back to Ted. “Oh, yeah, I’m full of ’em, all right,” he said. “Just full of ’em.”

The menus were delivered along with another bottle of wine. Starsky was relieved to see descriptions of the dishes printed in English under the French names. At least he’d know what he was ordering even if he didn’t know how to pronounce it. He decided on the Beef en Daube with polenta, glazed shallots and Cabernet sauce, thinking it actually sounded appetizing and that he wouldn’t butcher the name too badly when he ordered. Apparently he was wrong. Biff quickly chimed in with the correct pronunciation as he ordered, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand straight. He glanced at Hutch, who offered a loving wink and nod, silently assuring him it was OK.

But it wasn’t OK. Halfway through the meal, the conversation turned to police work, specifically Hutch’s decision to throw away a perfectly good career in medicine to become a cop.

“It’s just something I always wanted to do,” Hutch stated simply. “My folks had other ideas, but they’ve adjusted to it.”

“Well, Ken, knowing you, you’re the best at it.” Biff held a forkful of food suspended before his face. “How is he for a partner, David?”

“Oh, you know,” Starsky shrugged and smiled, “took me a while to show him the ropes, but he does all right.”

Biff and Ted laughed a little too hard and long at the comment.

“And how’d you decide to become a cop?” Ted asked.

“My dad was a cop.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I always knew it’s what I wanted to do.”

“Mm-hmm.” Ted nodded. “Following in the old man’s footsteps, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Has he retired from the force?”

“Umm, no.” Starsky briefly looked away. “He-he actually was killed when I was just a kid.”

“In the line of duty?” Biff questioned.

“Yeah.”

“And you still wanted to become a cop?”

“Biff, you know how it is, ” Ted chimed in. “It’s a vicious cycle. People brought up in misfortune are usually not afforded the opportunities to break away, so it just continues on and on.”

Starsky dropped his fork onto his plate noisily. “Misfortune?”

All eyes turned toward him, no one saying anything.

“You call being a cop misfortune?”

“Well, no, but…” Ted stammered.

“You think I was brought up in misfortune.” Starsky’s eyes snapped.

“Well, certainly a cop is not as affluent as…” Biff tried to come to his friend’s defense.

Starsky shifted his angry gaze to Biff. “Let me tell you something, Bart.”

“It’s Biff.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Starsky chuffed. “I’ll have you know I was not brought up in misfortune. I may not have lived in the fanciest house on the block or wore the best clothes. We didn’t vacation in Europe every summer. I had to work all through high school and still didn’t have squat when I graduated, so, no, I couldn’t go to college. But I was far from unfortunate.” He shifted in his chair. “My father busted his ass to make sure that we had food on the table and a roof over our heads. And when he died, my mother worked her fingers to the bone sewing and cooking for rich people just like you to make ends meet.” He leaned in closer and his voice grew more stern. “Yeah, it sucked. But you know what? There wasn’t a night–not one night–that I went to bed hungry or cold or doubting that I was really, truly loved. So don’t you dare tell me that I was unfortunate!” He wagged an angry finger at the twosome.

Hutch shifted his stare from Starsky to his two open-mouthed friends and nodded, waiting for their reply.

“Well, I certainly meant no offense, David,” Ted offered, no apology in his voice. “You were right, Ken. He can be quite the hothead, huh?”

Hutch gasped and snapped his head back in Starsky’s direction.

“Hothead?” Starsky shot Hutch an angry look that was filled with hurt. “I’m a hothead, huh?” He snatched his napkin from his lap and threw it on the table. “Well, I guess if defending my family to two uppity tight asses makes me a hothead, then so be it.” He forcefully slid his chair back, right into the path of an oncoming waiter. “Excuse me,” he apologized to the teetering waiter and stood, offering a final angry glance before heading toward the men’s room.

Hutch watched him stomp away then stared angrily at Biff and Ted. The smug, condescending looks on both of their faces made his jaw muscles flex in anger. He slowly stood from the table, plopping his own napkin down and saying nothing as he followed after Starsky, feeling their stare at his back the entire way.

“Starsk?” Hutch entered the men’s room and checked under the stalls. Seeing Starsky’s tan oxfords pointing toward the next stall, he knew his partner was leaning against the wall, brooding. He knocked on the stall door. “Starsky?”

“What happened to Dave?” came the gruff reply from behind the door.

“Starsk, come out here, would ya?”

“Nope. Go back to your friends. I’m being a hothead and want to be alone.”

Hutch ran a hand over his face. “Come out here, or I’m coming in. If I have to shimmy under the door, Starsky, I’m coming in.”

There was a heavy sigh as the lock clicked and the door slid slowly open. Just as Hutch imagined, Starsky stood leaning against the wall, his eyes staring at his hands folded in front of him.

“Are you OK?” Hutch leaned in the stall doorway.

“Just peachy.” Starsky folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m sorry, Starsk.”

“Not your fault.”

“I know. But I’m sorry anyway. And I’ll bet they’re sorry, too. Why don’t you come back to the table and we’ll finish dinner, huh?”

Starsky’s head jerked up. “I’m not going back there.”

“Oh, come on, Starsk.” Hutch moved out of the way as Starsky pushed himself from the wall and nudged out of the stall.

“Nope. I’m not gonna.” Starsky ran his hands under the water faucet as he spoke, not looking at Hutch. “I’ve got my dander up and anything they say is just going to end up pissing me off. So I’m not going back.”

Hutch stared at his partner through the mirror. “You’re just being stubborn.”

“Did you tell them that, too?” Starsky moved over to the paper towel dispenser, angrily jerking a handful of towels free. “That I’m a hothead and I’m stubborn?”

“That’s not what I said.” Hutch leaned against the counter of the sink.

“Then what did you tell them about me, huh?”

“I didn’t tell them anything really.” Hutch shrugged. “Just a little about your personality. You can be a hothead, you know.”

Starsky stepped over to the garbage can and tossed the wet towels in then turned to face Hutch. “And why was it so all-fired important to bring me along anyway? You want them to see your charity case partner?”

That made Hutch angry. He stepped closer to Starsky and grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. “Now you hold it right there. Not only is that not true, but that’s not fair. You know better than that, Starsky.” He leaned in closer and held Starsky’s stare. “You know ME better than that. You’re far from a charity case, and you know damn well that I have never, ever thought that about you.”

“All right, I know,” Starsky shook loose from Hutch’s grip and stepped back.

Hutch continued, “I don’t know what the hell has gotten into you or what your problem is…”

“My problem? My problem… uh, Ken?” Starsky put extra emphasis on his partner’s first name. “I’m not the one trying so hard to impress those two dipshits. And what is up with that anyway? Why are YOU trying so hard?”

A bitter look crossed Hutch’s face as Starsky’s question struck a nerve. “Well, why are you trying so hard NOT to impress them, huh?”

Starsky blinked at Hutch, hurt flooding his eyes. “I’m just being me, Hutch,” he answered after a pause. “I can’t help it if that’s not good enough for them.”

Hutch closed his eyes for a moment as regret overtook him. “Starsk…” he began, looking pleadingly at his partner for forgiveness. The opening of the door startled them both, their eyes darting in its direction as another man entered and looked questioningly at them, making his way to the urinals. Hutch reached out, but Starsky jerked away, blinking at the floor before walking to the door and pushing it halfway open. He paused to look back at the apologetic look on Hutch’s face.

“Starsk, I…”

“Save it.” Starsky’s hand shot up. “It’s all right. I’m going home where I belong.”

“No, Starsky, please, just…” Hutch took a step toward him.

“Hutch, don’t, OK?” Starsky’s hand remained in the air, keeping the blond at a distance. “Just… don’t. Tell Frick and Frack that we got a call and I had to go. Or tell them I was feeling particularly unfortunate and decided to go do some panhandling. Tell them to stuff it up their ass, for all I care. I’m gone.”

With that, Starsky pushed completely through the door, then was back a split second later, digging money out of his wallet. He walked over to Hutch and stuffed $30 in his shirt pocket.

Hutch looked down at the cash. “What…”

“It’s for my dinner. It was delicious and worth every penny.” Starsky shot back through the bathroom doorway, leaving Hutch staring at the swinging motion of the door.

 

IV.

Had Biff and Ted really known Hutch, they would have known better than to say anything as he approached the table. The icy stare he shot them both should have been their first clue that they were about to feel the effects of his patented Hutchinson wrath. But then, Biff and Ted didn’t really know Hutch.

“We saw David leave,” Biff said around his final bite of food.

“Oh, did you?” Hutch’s tone was as cold as his stare.

“Yes. Shame. We just ordered crème brulee. Too bad he’ll miss it.”

“Sit down, Ken,” Ted chimed in, grinning. “No reason you can’t enjoy the rest of your dinner.”

“All right.” Hutch’s movements were slow and deliberate as he reclaimed his chair.

“Well, he’s certainly rough around the edges, isn’t he?” Biff pushed his plate away and wiped at the corner of his mouth with his napkin.

“And sensitive,” Ted nodded and snickered.

“Sensitive.” Hutch repeated, his voice tight, the fury in his eyes growing.

“Mmm. But no need to be embarrassed, Ken.” Biff leaned closer to the table, reaching for the wine bottle. “We know it’s not your fault.”

“Oh, not at all.” Ted agreed, holding out his glass for some wine. “You can’t help who they stuck you with at that precinct.”

Biff smiled as he poured the wine. “Yes. Maybe someday they’ll find you someone who’s better suited.”

Hutch’s sudden, firm grasp on Biff’s wrist surprised him, causing him to lose his grip and the bottle to tumble noisily to the table. “What the…” he began, then stopped suddenly realizing the anger emanating from the steel blue eyes. “Ken?”

“I want you to listen to me–both of you.” Hutch’s gaze shifted to Ted, who looked as surprised as Biff. “And I want you to listen good. I can’t believe what just happened here tonight. I can’t believe the way you treated him.”

Biff tried to pull his wrist free from the firm grip of the large, powerful hand. “Now, Ken, surely you’re not mad at us.”

“A smart man would shut up right now, Biff.” Hutch all but spat, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened.

“Ken, come on now. Take it easy.” Biff grimaced.

“But then you’ve never been real smart, have you?” Hutch released the wrist, pushing it away in an exaggerated move, leaving Biff to rub at it gingerly.

“Ken…” Ted began, the snap of Hutch’s head in his direction cutting him off.

“What part of ‘shut up’ are you not understanding, Ted?” Ted closed his mouth and frowned as Hutch continued. “I’ve listened to you two horses’ asses spreading your crap all stinking night. And, frankly, I’m sick of it.” He shook his head in disgust. “So just sit back, relax and listen to me for a minute. Got it?” His eyes darted between the two silent, astonished faces.

“Good. That’s good.” Hutch managed a tight smile as he shifted in his chair and leaned in closer. “I’ll have you know that the man the two of you just worked so hard to run out of here is not only my partner, but my best friend. Better than any friend I ever had back in Minnesota or in college or ever. We weren’t just ‘stuck’ together by the precinct. We asked to be partners, because, actually, we couldn’t be more ‘suited’ to each other. We think alike, we act alike, we talk alike.” Each point was emphasized with a sharp jab of his finger to the table. “We’ve got a real connection. Oh, I realize that to a couple of superficial assholes, that may not appear to be true. But trust me when I say it is.”

“Ken, that’s good, really.” Ted attempted to smooth things over, wanting to avoid a further scene. “I’m sure he’s a wonderful partner. We didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Now let’s just…”

“Let’s just what? Let’s just carry on, laughing, talking, acting like absolutely nothing happened?” Hutch shook his head. “Oh, no. No, I don’t think so. Because, see, you both just insulted my partner. Insulted him bad enough that he felt like he had to leave. And when you insult him, you insult me. That’s the way it works. And now that I’ve been insulted, I don’t feel like continuing on with our little reunion. I’m sure you understand.” Hutch’s eyes once again darted between the two.

“There are a few things I want to set straight before I go.” He began again. “I came here tonight thinking I was going to connect with a part of my past I abandoned a long time ago. I really, honestly had myself convinced that the three of us used to have some great times together. And maybe we did. But you know what I realized? I realized that back then that was just me trying to fit in to what everyone wanted, what everyone expected from Kenneth Hutchinson. No one ever took the time to get to know the real me. No one. Not my parents, not my family, not my so-called friends, and certainly not the two of you. When I decided to break free and follow my heart, you all were shocked beyond belief. Because you didn’t understand.

“But, you know, when I moved out here and became a cop, I learned a valuable lesson. I learned that I can be me, that people will really like me–love me, in fact. That all that pompous, pretentious bullshit I’d spent too many valuable years of my life wallowing around in meant absolutely nothing. What did matter was being true to myself and filling my life with people who could accept me completely–the good, the bad and the ugly. I’d never had that ’til I moved here, ’til I became a cop. Never. And do you know who gave that to me?” Hutch paused a beat and raised an eyebrow. “Starsky. He didn’t care that I came from money or that I graduated valedictorian of my high school class or in the top 10 percentile at college. None of that mattered one iota to him. All he ever asked from me was to be open and honest, to be his friend. Neither of which I was very successful at tonight in my pathetic attempt to impress you two miserable clods.”

Biff and Ted shifted uncomfortably, their eyes scanning the room. Hutch smacked his hand down on the table, drawing their eyes back to him.

“But you know what’s going to happen when I leave here?” He continued once he had their attention again. “I’m going to go find him, wherever he is. I’ll apologize and he’ll forgive me. Because he’s my friend. He may not have a degree or come from money, he doesn’t always pronounce things correctly, and, yes, he’s rough around the edges. But he’s far from dumb. And he’s got a heart as big as the world. He doesn’t give it away freely, mind you. I’m one of the lucky ones. Someway, somehow he let me in. ME. Not my money, not my degree, but ME. And there’s not a single day that goes by that I’m not grateful for that.”

Hutch’s eyes softened just a bit as he looked at the dumbfounded looks on Biff and Ted’s faces. “Ah, I’m wasting my breath,” he realized. “This is all lost on the likes of you.” He shook his head and stood. “But let me just say this before I go. I didn’t bring Starsky here tonight for you to ridicule and pick apart. I brought him here because I honestly wanted you to see how well I was doing. I’m not rolling in the dough anymore, no. I’m not living in a mansion and driving a Rolls Royce. But, dammit, I’m the one who’s got it made. I’ve got a job that I love, that gives me satisfaction, and I’ve got one hell of a friend right beside me every step of the way. I thought you’d be able to recognize that. But you’re either too blind or too stupid–maybe both. So the joke’s on you, Ted. You, too, Bart.”

“Biff,” Biff corrected.

“Yeah, whatever.” Hutch chuffed, stepping out of the way of the waiter as he delivered three dishes of crème brulee.

“Mmm, looks good,” he said, shaking his head. “Eat mine for me, would ya?” He started to walk away, then turned back to the table, a smirk formed on his lips. “Or better yet, just stuff it.”

V.

The only sound in the hospital corridor was the rustling of the nurse’s nylons, her legs rubbing together as she led Hutch to Starsky’s room. Hutch watched the red ponytail sway between the sides of the cap nestled on her head as her large frame moved methodically down the hall.

“There you go, honey,” she stopped outside of Starsky’s room, turned and smiled, her green eyes dancing at the blond. “He was just about asleep when I left him, so you might not get too much out of him.”

“That’s OK. I just want to see him.” Hutch smiled down at her, grateful for her kindness. “I won’t stay too long.”

“Take your time.” She patted his arm and glanced into the room. “He needs to work on his Bogey.”

Hutch laughed. “Oh, boy. He didn’t call you schweetheart, did he?”

“Oh, now don’t tell me he uses that line on all the girls.” She pouted. “I’m heartbroken.”

Hutch squeezed her shoulder and grinned. “Just the ones he really likes.”

A light blush spread across her alabaster complexion. “My name’s Belinda, if either of you needs anything, honey.” She smiled and walked away.

“Thank you,” Hutch called after her, turning toward the doorway.

The room was dark, with only the soft glow from a low-wattage bulb shining a path to Starsky’s bed. Hutch stepped into the room and walked over to his partner, who laid facing away from the door on his right side. His hospital gown was tied loosely in the back, and despite the dim light, Hutch could see a deep, dark purple and green bruise spread between his shoulder blades. Taped ribs peeked through one of the lower gaps of the gown, and Starsky’s broken wrist lie in front of him, a fresh white cast matching the pillow it was propped up on.

Hutch watched him sleep for a moment, taking inventory of his injuries. Cuts and scrapes ran up and down the length of both arms and along his nose and cheeks. A bruise surrounded his left eye and three stitches were visible in the left corner of his mouth. ‘Another scar to add to the collection, huh, buddy?’ Hutch thought as he stooped over the sleeping form, debating whether to wake him or not. Starsky resolved the dilemma as heavy lids slowly fluttered open, revealing unfocused eyes that darted muzzily around the room before coming to rest on Hutch’s face.

“Thought that was you.” Starsky’s words were slightly slurred.

Hutch leaned in closer and brushed a curl off the warm forehead. “Hey, buddy,” he soothed.

“Hey yourself.”

“How ya doin’?”

“Been better. Been worse.” Starsky’ tongue snaked slowly out of the corner of his mouth, gingerly probing at the tight sting of the stitches.

Hutch gave the forehead a final brush, then rested his palms on his thighs just above his knees. “Well, you’ve looked better, I can tell ya that.”

“Thanks.”

“What, the night wasn’t going bad enough for you? You had to chase some nut into a deserted building and almost get yourself killed?”

Starsky released a tired sigh. “Just got that speech from Dobey. Don’t need to hear it from you, too.”

“OK.” Hutch grinned and turned around, finding a hospital chair behind him. He pulled the chair to him and sat down heavily, leaning closer to the bed.

Starsky’s eyes widened and narrowed as he tried to focus on the movement. “Whatcha doin’ here anyway?” he asked.

“Well, where else do you think I’d be?”

“With your friends.”

Hutch chuffed at the statement and reached over, pulling an overlooked chip of concrete from Starsky’s hair. “While you, my partner, my BEST friend, are laying here in the hospital?”

“I’m all right. You don’t have to be here.”

“Do-do you want me to leave?” The knot that had formed in the pit of Hutch’s stomach tightened.

“No.” Starsky croaked, his tongue once again finding the stitches as he leisurely shook his head. “No, of course not. I just–I know how important this was for you. I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Relief loosened the knot only slightly. “Well, if that’s not the dumbest thing you’ve ever said… Of course I’d be here with you.”

Bleary eyes blinked away from the blond, seemingly focusing on something just over his shoulder. “Guess it’s just my night to be dumb,” Starsky said flatly.

Hutch took in a long breath, scowling as his eyes roamed over the battered form in front of him. He shook his head slightly and rested his forearm on the bed rail by Starsky’s head, plucking at more hidden concrete chips and flicking them to the floor.

“What’re you doin’?” Starsky’s eyes shifted toward the top of his head.

“You’ve got stuff in your hair.” Hutch continued with the plucking.

Starsky tried to lift his injured hand to swat the fingers away, but it was too heavy. “Will ya cut that out?” he finally managed. “I’m not an ape, you know.”

“Sorry,” Hutch snickered and stopped, resting his chin in his hand and watching the annoyed look on his partner’s face disappear into a yawn.

“Starsk?”

“Mmm?” Starsky’s gaze slowly drifted back to Hutch.

“I had no idea.”

“I know.” Starsky’s eyes remained focused on his partner, heavy lids continuing to drift open and closed.

“I swear to you, they weren’t like that in college.”

“I believe you.” Starsky nodded his head once. “People change.”

A tiny laughed escaped Hutch. “You warned me about that, didn’t you?”

“About what?” Starsky’s face contorted into a confused look, his tongue once again picking at the stitches.

“About people changing.”

“I did?”

“Yeah. Don’t you remember?”

Starsky closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. “I’m kinda stoned, Hutch,” he finally said, reopening them. “Barely remember what I just said.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Hutch giggled at the genuinely confused look he was getting from his partner. “You warned me that people change. And for once in your life, Charlie, you were right.” The smile faded and he leaned in closer. “I’m sorry, Starsk. Really. I never dreamed they could be so hateful.”

“S’alright.” Starsky smacked his lips together and frowned. “I’m thirsty.”

“Oh.” Hutch looked around the room and found a yellow plastic water pitcher on the nightstand. He picked it up to see if it was full, then reached for a cup. “You know I never would have gone tonight if I had known they were going to treat you the way they did,” he said as he poured some water into the cup and found a straw.

“Mm-hmm.” Starsky concentrated on the straw being directed into his mouth.

“It never occurred to me that they wouldn’t find you as lovable as I do.” Hutch smiled shyly as he held the straw in place.

Starsky took a few weak sips and pulled away. “Lovable? Me?” A crooked grin formed on his lips.

“Yes, you.” Hutch continued to smile and placed the cup on the nightstand.

“Awww, Hutch.” Starsky nestled in the pillow and closed his eyes. “You’re only sayin’ that ’cause you think I won’t remember.”

“Oh, and you think you will, huh?”

“Count on it.”

“Well, I’ll deny every word.” Hutch watched as his partner’s smile was replaced with a small grimace as he tried to shift in the bed.

“You OK? Anything I can do?”

“Caught in this blanket.” Starsky grunted and opened his eyes, trying to free his captured leg, the lethargy in his veins not allowing it.

“Hold on.” Hutch stood from the chair and reached down, untangling the blanket.

Starsky’s stare remained on Hutch’s face as he fought with the green material, his focus intent on the task at hand. A knowing grin crossed Starsky’s lips, his tongue once again poking at the stitches as he spoke.

“Ya told ’em off, didn’t ya?”

Hutch stopped his tug of war with the blanket and looked up at the questioning eyes. “Kind of.” He shrugged.

“I knew you would.”

“Yeah, well…” Hutch shifted his gaze back to the blanket and pulled it securely around Starsky’s waist.

“Thanks.” Starsky offered as Hutch plunked back down in the chair. His fingers slowly inched forward on the pillow, searching.

Hutch stared at the hand, then grasped the fingers with his own. “You bet,” he said, gently squeezing. The knot in his stomach released, knowing all was forgiven.

Their fingers remained intertwined and Starsky closed his eyes. Watching as the dark head lolled down the pillow, the battle with unconsciousness apparently lost, Hutch gave the fingers another slight squeeze and began to stand.

“Hutch?” Starsky jerked awake, gasping as unfocused eyes quickly blinked open.

“What is it, buddy?” Hutch absently reached for the hand again and sat back down.

Starsky’s muddled stare met Hutch’s concern. “Why?”

“Why what, Starsk?” Hutch leaned in to better hear the voice that had grown weak with fatigue.

“Why do you think you tried so hard to impress them? New clothes, callin’ me Dave. Why?”

“I dunno, Starsk.” Hutch shrugged. “I wanted them to see that I was really doing all right with the choices I made. Guess I let some superficial stuff get in the way.”

“I don’t get it.” Starsky’s words were starting to run together. “You could call that jerk Biff, but you couldn’t call me Starsky?” Only a touch of blue peaked out through the tiny slits of his heavy lids.

“Doesn’t make sense, does it?” Hutch’s thumb rubbed at the limp fingers held in his hand.

Starsky lay silent in the bed, his brow furrowing after a few seconds. “What doesn’t make sense?”

“Never mind.” Hutch smiled and stood, leaning over the bed. He released Starsky’s hand and laid his palm against a bruised cheek. “Go to sleep. I’ll be back in the morning,” he whispered into his partner’s ear.

“OK…” A small grin formed on Starsky’s lips. “Ken.” The grin remained even as the tiny patches of blue completely disappeared.

Hutch leaned on the bed rail and watched Starsky sleep for a few moments, then straightened and scrubbed at his tired eyes. He checked to make sure the blanket was securely fastened around the sleeping form and gave Starsky’s shoulder a final gentle squeeze before turning to leave. Reaching the doorway, something indefinable tugged in his chest.

Hutch glanced back, looking once again at the sleeping man. Even in the darkness, he could visualize the rise and fall of the chest, dark lashes lying against pale skin. Smiling, he leaned against the doorframe for a moment, his gaze never shifting.

Tonight he had gone searching for acceptance. Yet lying in that bed was the purest heart he had ever known–a man who never noticed the trophies on the shelf. No, Starsky loved Hutch simply because he did… without pretense or fan-fair, but with trusting innocence and the fiercest of loyalties. Those knowing eyes had looked deep into Hutch’s soul, seeing every truth in stark reality.

And loved him anyway.

Looking at his partner now, Hutch’s smile remained in spite of the shame touching his senses. Warmth now flooding his chest, he slowly turned and stepped out of the darkness and into the brightly lit hallway. He brushed past Belinda, the nurse who had been so kind, offering a bright smile for her and a silent thanks to the powers-that-be for a best friend who, tonight, he didn’t quite feel he deserved.

 

EPILOGUE

Hutch leaned against the back of the elevator as it slowly descended the eight floors to the Emergency Room exit. He stepped into the waiting area, his eyes quickly planning an escape route that would bypass the reception desk. He was just too exhausted for a repeated run-in with the triage nurse from hell. Relief washed over him when he saw that Judy had apparently been dismissed for the night. Straightening his stance, he flashed a polite smile at her older, much friendlier looking, replacement as he walked past the desk.

The smile quickly faded, however, as he crossed through the doorway and found the space where he had so hastily left his car empty. His eyes roamed the parking lot, finally finding the beloved LTD swaying out of the driveway and into the crowded street, attached to the back of a tow truck.

“Dammit,” he cursed, kicking a lamppost. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed again as pain coursed through his foot and up his leg. “Mother fu….”

“Just not your night, is it?” A voice from behind startled him. He held his injured foot and hopped around on the other, squinting into the dark corner from which the voice came. None other than Judy eventually came into focus, a smug smile on her face and a lit cigarette glowing between her fingertips at her side.

“What?” he barked at her, still hopping in place on one foot.

“I said,” she lifted the cigarette to her mouth and took a long, exaggerated drag, the smoke curling out from between her lips and in Hutch’s direction, “Not your night, is it?”

Hutch simply stared at her for a moment, waving the smoke out of his face before turning away and saying nothing. He limped to the edge of the sidewalk and lowered himself down, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“That bucket of bolts yours?” Judy, now standing directly behind him, pointed the cigarette in the direction of the driveway exit.

“Yeah.” He grunted from behind his hands. “Like you didn’t know.”

“Oh, I knew.” She took another drag on her cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the corner of a satisfied smile. “I knew.”

Hutch sighed and folded his arms across his knees, staring across the crowded parking lot. “Just the icing on my cake tonight, Judy. Thanks.”

Judy continued to smile, more smoke billowing in the air. “My pleasure. I did you a favor, really.”

“Favor?” Hutch chuffed and shook his head, still staring straight ahead.

“Yeah, favor.” Judy crushed the cigarette out with the rubber sole of her shoe and stared down at the blond head. “Everyone needs to be taken down a peg or two once in a while. Keeps ya humble.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Judy.” Hutch rested his chin on his shoulder and sneered at the mint green polyester covering her kneecap. “If I go down any more pegs tonight, I’m gonna have to look up to see the bottom of that cigarette you just smashed into the ground.”

Judy squatted down next to Hutch, her brown eyes meeting his blue. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

“Lady, you have no idea.”

“Your partner OK?” she raised a questioning eyebrow.

Hutch nodded and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Well, see, that’s a bright spot then.” Judy patted his knee and stood.

Hutch blinked up at her. “Didn’t figure you for an optimist, Judy.”

“And I’d never have figured a snazzy dresser such as yourself to drive that piece of crap they just towed out of here.” She chuckled and began to walk away. “You just never know, do you?”

Hutch turned his attention back to the parking lot. “Ain’t that the truth,” he murmured.

“Stay put. I’ll call you a cab.” Judy reached the entrance and stopped, her hand resting on the door handle. “Is he worth all of this–that partner of yours?”

Hutch looked back at her, thought for a moment, and nodded before turning his attention back to the dark night. “All this and more… schweetheart,” he added his own touch of Bogart, because that’s what Starsky would have done.