The Blue Detective

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Not so much a missing scene as an alternate version of “Ballad for a Blue Lady.”

 

I wrote this in part because I wanted to figure out what was going on in Hutch’s head throughout the course of this episode. My intention was to write it so that even readers who are not entirely familiar with this episode would be interested and entertained–please let me know if you think I’ve succeeded or failed! Many thanks to Rae for being such a great beta reader.

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Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson slammed the door to the captain’s office behind him. His partner, Dave Starsky, who was usually one step away from him, remained behind, no doubt trying to soothe their captain and lessen the impact of Hutch’s words.

Hutch had risen from his chair in the captain’s office, holding a file marked “Joe Fitch” in one hand, the other raised and pointing menacingly at his boss. “I’ll take the assignment, Captain. But I don’t like it. In fact, I think it stinks!” Hutch’s voice, usually soft, had risen in the way it did when he got angry at someone, or indignant about some injustice. He wasn’t sure if he was angry right now at Captain Dobey, or indignant at the injustice of the situation. But he was not happy.

After about five minutes, his partner emerged from behind the captain’s door. Starsky did not look happy either. He looked at Hutch over their desk in the squad room.

“I’d do it, but you know that you’d be better for this one,” Starsky tried to explain.

“Oh really, why’s that?” demanded Hutch, looking straight at him. Starsky dropped his eyes, and played with a folder on the desk.

“Well, because you’re a jazz fan, you know the names of all the songs. You’ve written songs yourself, for God’s sake. I’d look like an idiot; I’d make a fool of myself in a jazz club. You’ll fit right in.”

“Really? Is that so.”

“Uh huh.”

“Well I think it stinks!” Hutch repeated the words he’d nearly shouted at Dobey. “This woman-we’re going to be using her. And what’s she done to us? Absolutely nothing. From the looks of things, she’s sacrificed everything she had for her brother. She’s just starting to put her life back together, and now we come in and treat her like she’s nothing more than a…a stooge, a lackey. She doesn’t deserve this!”

“Hutch, we’ve done this before. Sometimes we need to lie to people, maybe even hurt them a little, if what we’re doing is really for a greater good,” Starsky tried to reason with his partner. “It’s nothing new. What about Marsha at Ginger Evans’s dance studio?”

“That was different. She was in on the scam. And don’t bring up Melinda; she wasn’t innocent either. How did you feel when they made you use Rosey Malone? Huh? Was that fun for you?”

Starsky looked down again. He fiddled with a coffee cup. “No. No, it wasn’t. But her father was a hoodlum, a very bad man. He hurt a lot of people. Like Joe Fitch. Which is why we need to stop him. We need to catch him, and Marianne seems like our best bet.” Marianne’s brother Harry was a bagman for Joe Fitch, and the district attorney suspected that Marianne might be working for them both. They had no evidence of that, though, and although Marianne had been busted for dealing heroin several years ago, and had spent five years in jail for it, Dobey had told them that he thought it was actually her brother who had been guilty. But Marianne had refused to turn him in, and had done the time herself. Five years in jail is a lot of loyalty. Dobey thought she might be sick of the whole game, but Hutch didn’t see any reason why she would turn in her brother now.

“She’s been out of jail for less than a year. She’s just starting to turn things around for herself,” Hutch said again. “We’ve got two goddamned witnesses who can finger Fitch for two separate murders. What on earth do we need her for?”

“When Joe Fitch goes on trial, witnesses have a way of disappearing.”

“And who says Marianne won’t disappear? How can we protect her, if she does agree to talk?”

“That’s your job, blondie,” Starsky smiled, trying to lighten things up.

“I’m not in the mood, Starsky,” Hutch said, putting on his leather jacket. He picked up the file again, and headed for the door.

“Hey, where ya goin’?” asked Starsky, looking confused. Weren’t they just having a conversation?

“I’m going to get some air. I’ll see you around,” Hutch slammed his way out of the squad room’s swinging doors. Starsky stared after him, not quite knowing what to do.

****************************

Hutch drove his beat-up LTD up one of the canyon roads just outside the city. He was headed west, towards the beach, but he didn’t much care about a destination. He just needed some time to think, some time by himself, without Starsky. Without the whirlwind, the overwhelming presence that was Starsky. His partner sometimes had a way of making everything make sense, using twisted pretzel logic and irrational reasoning, that seemed so right when he said it but so wrong later, after Hutch had had some time to reflect. All Starsky had to do was flash that grin, give you one of his bear hugs, and you’d believe that everything was all right. How could it be wrong? Everything was fine. Now let’s get a beer, buddy. Yes, that was Starsky. But everything was not fine right now, no matter what his partner said. Hutch could not shake that feeling. He didn’t want to shrug things off. He needed to think.

He had the windows rolled down, and was driving at just about the top speed his car could go. Wind blew his hair around and the gritty sand of the desert got in his eyes, even with his sunglasses on. He had the radio on, loud, but wasn’t listening. When he got to the top of a particularly curvy stretch of road, he swung the wheel sharply to the right and slammed on the brakes, kicking up a satisfying amount of dirt as he pulled over. The shoulder was only about six feet wide; the dropaway past that about 300 feet deep. Hutch got out of the car, leaned on the front fender, and stared out across the valley. In the daytime the city glinted in the sun; to look at it, he had to squint. Even with his sunglasses on.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, and kicked one boot into the dirt at his feet. He stared at the picture of Marianne Owens that had been in the folder on Fitch. Pretty girl. Not young. Seen some hard times. Had that look in her eye. She looked interesting, actually. And she was supposed to be quite a fine singer; she had a good reputation on the local club scene. He wouldn’t have minded getting to know her, under other circumstances. But this felt wrong. It felt all wrong, especially for her. He didn’t see how any good could come of it, for her.

Well, that was not true, he reasoned. That was possibly the only way to look at all this positively-that he might be able to help her. Maybe she was sick of always taking the heat for her brother’s fuck-ups. Maybe she was tired of being bound to Joe Fitch. Maybe she really wanted to start a new life. He could give her that. He could give her that chance.

When he thought of his undercover assignment, of getting close to Marianne and possibly becoming her lover, just to get her to tell him about Fitch, his stomach soured. It sickened him to think of using another person in so callous a manner. What if she fell in love with him? Not that she necessarily would; Hutch wasn’t even confident he could get her interested in him. But what if? What if she fell in love with him, and he had to break her heart? Hadn’t she been through enough? What they were doing disgusted him-just one more line crossed, one more personal rule broken, in his career as a cop. He looked out at the city below him. One more cop, one less cop, what did it matter? The city would go on without him. The world would survive. He thought of the look of shock that would be on Starsky’s face if Hutch announced that he was quitting. He thought of turning in his badge and gun to Dobey. When he had these thoughts, he didn’t feel bad. When he played these scenes in his mind, he felt peaceful. He felt like he would be doing the right thing. Someday, he thought, someday. And that day was not too far away.

Hutch got back in his car. As he slammed the door shut and started up the rumbling engine, he promised himself that he wouldn’t lie to her if she guessed. If she guessed he was a cop, if she asked, he’d tell her the truth. It was the best that he could promise himself. He turned back onto the road and headed back into the city.

****************************

Inside the club, it was dark and smoky. Hutch rubbed his neck nervously. He wondered if the fringe jacket he was wearing looked too ridiculous. Could he pass as a songwriter in town from Nashville? He made his way over to the bar and ordered a beer.

The woman at the front of the room was singing, her eyes half closed, her body swaying slightly. “Blue moon, you saw me standing alone,” she sang. Her piano player tinkled a jazzy interlude. She seemed to be lost inside the music, lost inside the words. Like she had lived them before. Like she was still living them now.

After her set, she came over to the bar, and Hutch struck up a conversation with her. It wasn’t hard. Hutch sometimes forgot how charming he could be, especially when he was not being overshadowed by his overbearingly charming partner. He always forgot that women found him attractive; it embarrassed and surprised him.

“I couldn’t help but notice what a beautiful voice you have,” he said, smiling. “What with you up there, singing and everything.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what they pay me for,” Marianne replied sharply. “Three nights a week.”

“Oh, really, three nights? Which nights? I’ll have to remember when to come back. You have a great voice. Sort of reminds me of Billie Holiday.”

Marianne raised one eyebrow. “Billie Holiday, huh? You flatter me.” Marianne was smiling now, and flirting, holding out her cigarette for him to light.

“The lady needs to be flattered once in awhile. Besides, it’s true.” Hutch held out a match to her cigarette. “My name’s Ken.”

“Nice to meet you, Ken,” she said, taking a drag. She eyed his fringe jacket. “Been in town long?”

Hutch blushed. “Nah, just a couple weeks. Came in from Nashville-wanted to see what I could find out about scoring a recording contract.”

“Oh, really? You sing?”

“A little. Mostly I write songs.” He told her about a song he was writing, that he was having trouble with. It was the truth. He found he didn’t actually have to lie much; he just had to omit the truth about why he was really there. Marianne had a caustic way of flirting, a kind of verbal sparring, that he found himself enjoying. After awhile, he was able to relax.

“Listen, what are you doing after your next set? I’m staying at a friend’s place in Venice-I’ve got my guitar there. Maybe you’d like to come over and help me write my song.” He thought his apartment looked too lived-in to belong to someone who’d only been in town for two weeks.

She looked at him skeptically. For a moment, he thought she might turn him down. “If I help you write it, do I get first dibs on recording it?”

Hutch laughed. “Of course. Though I don’t think it’s much your style. I write folk-rock songs, not jazz standards.”

“I’ve never met a song yet that couldn’t be turned into a jazz standard,” Marianne winked at him, and stubbed out her cigarette. “I should be done by midnight, cowboy. You got a horse watered and fed?”

“My horse is parked outside, and it’s big enough for the both of us,” Hutch shot back at her. He grinned; he liked her style.

****************************

The next morning, Marianne left early, before Hutch woke up. She left only a short note, “Thanks for last night. Marianne.” Hutch smiled as he made his breakfast health shake and got dressed for the day. It was only the sound of Starsky’s car an hour later that reminded him of why he’d gone to meet her in the first place, and of the assignment that lay ahead.

“Morning,” said Starsky as he barged through the door and into Hutch’s kitchen. He rustled around in the refrigerator for awhile until he found a root beer, then popped the top and took a long swallow. Hutch stared at him and shook his head. “You’re gonna die from malnutrition at an early age.”

“I’m gonna live twice as long as you, with your goat’s milk and decimated liver. How’d last night go?”

Hutch frowned, and looked down. “Fine. It went fine.”

“Aw, good. Did you get anything?”

“Did I get anything? Did I get anything? Is that what you wanna know?” Hutch felt his fury rising again.

Starsky’s face fell. “I mean on Fitch. Did she give you anything on Fitch?”

“Oh. No. I didn’t ask. It didn’t come up, anything about her brother, and I couldn’t very well just ask her out of the blue.”

“No, of course not,” said Starsky. He paused. “Hey, you know it’s none of my business what happened. I don’t need to know that.”

“Yeah, right. I slept with her, Starsky, ok? Are you satisfied? Now you know. One thing led to another, and if I’m supposed to go on trying to get information from her, I can’t exactly play hard to get.”

“No. Of course not. I’m sorry, babe,” Starsky looked sullen.

“You know I didn’t want this assignment. You know how much I hate this. So don’t get all pouty on me now,” said Hutch.

Starsky looked at him. “No, no, you don’t understand. I feel bad that you have to do this. I don’t feel threatened. I know it’s just an assignment.” It amazed Starsky how often they’d been misreading each other lately. It made him wonder what was going on, if something was happening to their connection.

“Ok. Let’s get rolling,” Hutch took one last gulp from his glass and put it down, and headed for the door. Starsky followed wordlessly. Despite his words, Hutch did not seem ok.

****************************

It was a difficult week. During the day, Hutch rode with Starsky, as usual. At night, he went to Mood Indigo, the club where Marianne sang. She only sang on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday nights, but he thought it would look suspicious if he only went on days when he knew she’d be there. So he’d show up around 10, nurse a couple of beers, and leave by midnight. It wouldn’t have been so bad, going to a jazz club for a couple hours every night, if it hadn’t been for work.

On the seventh day, Charlie Baron, one of their witnesses against Fitch, was murdered. They found him in his hotel room, looking like he’d been run over by a truck. The detective assigned to guard him was nowhere to be seen. They found him later, in a dumpster on 14th Street, three bullets in his back.

At the crime scene, Hutch was furious. Starsky had never seen him like this. He and Dobey stood back and watched as Hutch blew up at the assistant district attorney, Mike Stanton, who was handling the case.

“Let me see that,” said Stanton, looking at the cigarette butt Hutch had found on the carpet.

“It’s evidence,” scolded Hutch, dropping the butt into a plastic baggie.

“It had lipstick on it, didn’t it. I knew it, I knew she was involved somehow!” Stanton looked accusingly at Hutch. “What’s taking you so long, anyway? You’ve been undercover for over a week, you’ve got nothing! I need you to move faster.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” Hutch shouted at him.

“Maybe it’s not good enough! I need that girl and I need her brother,” Stanton yelled back at him. “I suggest-”

“I suggest that you shut up and get out!” yelled Hutch, pointing his finger menacingly at Stanton.

“You don’t seem to understand-” started Stanton.

“I understand perfectly well, and I suggest you shut up and get out,” Hutch said again, his face burning.

“Captain Dobey, will you-” but Stanton’s words were lost as Hutch grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and shoved him out the hotel room door. “Will you get out already!” Stanton lay in a heap in the hallway, stunned. Hutch leaned against the doorframe, smoldering.

****************************

On their way back to the precinct, Hutch slumped silently in the passenger seat and stared out the window at nothing in particular. He hadn’t said anything to his partner since they’d left the crime scene. He didn’t feel much like talking. Starsky tried anyway.

“You really let him have it back there,” Starsky began tentatively.

Hutch looked up at him. “Yeah? I thought he was out of line.”

Starsky reasoned, “He’s only doing his job.”

“Yeah, well I think-”

“It stinks,” Starsky finished. “I know.” He smiled wryly. “But we gotta do it.”

” ‘We.’ ” Hutch repeated, sarcastically.

“Yeah, ‘we.’ I’m on this case, too, ya know. I’ve been working the phones, trying to get a lead on more witnesses.”

“What’s the point of getting more witnesses? They’re only gonna end up dead.”

“Wow. That’s some way for a cop to think.”

“Yeah. Well, you’re not dating a potential witness. You’re not getting close to someone who could get blown away. And you’re not putting anyone into more danger than she’s already in.”

Starsky was silent. What Hutch said was true, and there was no point in reminding him that it was his job, that Marianne had been in danger long before he’d met her, and that her problems were none of his concern. Starsky knew that Hutch took things like this hard. They’d just have to get through these next few days.

After that, Hutch stopped riding with Starsky during the days. They decided it was too risky-what if he were seen by one of Fitch’s henchmen? At night, Hutch kept going to Mood Indigo. Sometimes Marianne was there, sometimes she wasn’t. When she was there, he’d buy her a drink, light her cigarette, talk to her. Sometimes she went home with him, mostly she didn’t. She didn’t want to know much about him, and she didn’t seem to want to tell him much about herself, either. She flirted a lot-with words, with gestures. They had a lot of teasing conversations, but she always seemed to be holding a big part of herself back. Hutch realized that her caustic manner was just a way she had of protecting herself. He hoped she’d eventually be able to drop the façade and open up to him; otherwise, he didn’t know how he’d be able to bring up the subject of her brother and Joe Fitch.

One night, when she was done with her set, Marianne came over to where Hutch stood at the bar, scribbling something on a cocktail napkin, and ordered a blue butterfly on a velvet apple.

Hutch smiled, amused by the name. “A blue butterfly on a velvet apple,” he repeated. He’d heard of blue butterfly flowers, but he’d never heard of this drink. He meant to ask her about it, but she interrupted his thoughts: “How is it I keep running into you?” She sounded amused; her eyes danced in the dim light of the bar.

“It must be the wind,” he answered.

“Ah, the wind,” she said, smiling secretly.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” She took out a cigarette. He lit a match to it, and stared at her while she took a drag. He stared a moment too long and realized the match was burning his fingers. “Oh,” he said and shook it out. They laughed. Her flirting was sly and sardonic; he felt like she was testing him to see if he was clever enough for her.

She picked up the cocktail napkin he’d been writing on, and read: “He brought her-he bought her a flower at the fair, 1927 Kansas City/ he said he liked the color of her hair, walked her home and told her she was pretty.” She looked at him. “Is that for me?”

Hutch shrugged, smiling. “It’s just something I’ve had since I was fifteen; it belonged to my mother.” Actually, it was a song he’d heard on the radio that had stuck in his head. But he thought his answer sounded more romantic.

Marianne shook her head, smiling. “I don’t know, a man comes all the way from Nashville just to bring me a song. Mister, you are doing me wrong.”

“Well, I haven’t finished the song yet.” Hutch smiled back. He thought the night was going well, so far. Marianne seemed to be in a good mood; she seemed happy to see him. Maybe tonight he could get her to open up a bit.

She smiled, more openly this time, and leaned in to kiss him, when suddenly a man came around from the other side of the bar and grabbed her, kissing her on the cheek. “That was beautiful tonight,” he said.

Marianne seemed surprised, but not unhappy, to see him. “My brother-that’s my brother, Harry-Ken, Ken, Harry,” she introduced them.

“Yeah, I seen you in here a few nights now, how you doin’?” He looked at Hutch with wild eyes-he seemed nervous. His face was shining with sweat. Without waiting for an answer, he said to Marianne, “Look, I’m moving, I’ll catch you later, that was really beautiful.”

“Harry, where’s the fire?” asked Marianne, concerned.

“I got something I gotta do,” he replied, his eyes twitching. To Hutch he said, “I’ll see you around-” he fumbled for a name. He seemed so preoccupied, so hurried.

“Ken.”

“Ken. Listen, you going on again?” he turned to Marianne.

“No, it was my last set. Where you been?” she said.

“Nowhere. Here. Listen, I’ll see you around,” said Harry, and he was off.

“Very busy man,” said Marianne. She didn’t seem bitter, though. Just matter-of-fact.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Hutch was still staring at Harry, who was disappearing into the crowd. He wondered where Harry had been, and where Harry was going.

But Marianne was watching Hutch. “What about you? Are you a busy man?” She seemed curious. She watched him watching Harry.

“Hmmm?” Hutch turned back to her. “Oh, I…” He thought about saying something about traveling, about rambling along playing his guitar and writing songs on cocktail napkins. But he didn’t have to. She put a finger over his lips. “Don’t tell me. I like the mystery.”

“I like the lady,” he replied, and leaned over to kiss her. But she pulled away, smiling teasingly. “See ya, Mister.”

Hutch groaned. “Aaah, where ya going?” Not again, he thought.

“I’ve got to change my frock,” she said archly, and headed backstage. She was the kind of girl who could use the word “frock” without sounding silly. Hutch smiled, relieved, and settled in to wait.

****************************

When she came back from her dressing room, she’d changed her outfit and freshened her lipstick. Hutch paid the bar tab and they were just about to leave when Harry came back.

“Listen, I’m gonna go get some deli,” he said. “Ken, you don’t mind, do you?”

“No, not at all,” said Hutch. He and Marianne were walking arm in arm, laughing, not paying much attention to Harry.

“Sis,” he said more loudly.

“Oh, I don’t mind, have a good time,” she answered, still laughing. She had not caught the urgency in his voice.

“I don’t think you understand.”

“Oh, we don’t want deli, do we?” She looked up at Hutch.

Harry tried again. “Joe asked me to ask you.”

“Well, thank him and tell him… I-I’ll tell him.” She walked over to a middle-aged man on the phone at the corner of the bar.

“Mr. Fitch,” she tapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you for the invitation, but we’re gonna pass tonight.” She looked back at Hutch, her eyes sparkling. She was thinking of candles and wine, not corned beef and cream soda.

“Whaddaya mean, pass.” It wasn’t a question. “Your other plans can change. We’ll grab a coupla sandwiches.”

“Marianne-” her brother seemed to be warning her.

Marianne seemed confused. “Uh, sandwiches weren’t what we had in mind.”

“No kidding,” said Fitch, looking over at Hutch appraisingly. “Tell your friend you’ll meet him later.”

“Marianne-” again, there was that urgency in Harry’s voice.

Fitch hung up the phone and made his way over to the stairs, which led to the exit and the street. Hutch blocked his way, and extended his hand. “Mr. Fitch, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

Fitch glared at him. “We haven’t.” He did not shake the hand that was offered. “Get the car, Casey,” he said over his shoulder to someone standing behind him; his driver, Hutch guessed.

“Hey look, Mister,” said Hutch. “You can try being a little polite, huh? Marianne and I are not interested in your invitation, thanks very much all the same.”

Fitch looked surprised that someone would try to turn him down. “You’re welcome.” He went up the stairs, his driver just ahead of him.

But Hutch saw that his defiance had been for nothing. Something had changed-a look in her eyes told Hutch that Marianne wouldn’t be eating dinner with him that night after all.

“Hey wait a second,” he tried to grab her, but she eluded him.

“Ken, I have to go,” she said. She seemed frightened. The flirting, confident woman of a few moments ago was gone. In her place was someone cowed into doing things she didn’t want to do. “It’s hard to explain. I’ll see you later.” She and Harry walked up the stairs and left the club. Hutch turned and stared after them.

Hutch wondered what kind of hold Fitch had over Marianne, to make such a strong woman bend so easily. She seemed to have almost no will of her own when she was around Fitch and Harry. It was nothing like the tough-talking, brassy woman she was when she was alone with him, or up on stage, with her music.

Hutch was puzzled by this, but what really mattered was that, finally, he had his opening. He could question her now about this man, and what kind of trouble she was in with him.

It had been a good night, policework-wise, but when he got home, Hutch couldn’t sleep. He sat up half the night, staring out the window. He was upset because Marianne seemed to be in Joe Fitch’s clutches, yes, but he was much more upset by the fact that his first impulse hadn’t been to help her. His first thought had been that this was a good development for his cover, that now, he could play the helpful stranger, the white knight. And by playing the white knight, he’d be able to get the information he was looking for, that they all were looking for. For the second time that week, Hutch felt sick to his stomach.

****************************

But Hutch was wrong. The incident at the club did not provide the opportunity he’d hoped it would. Evidently, Marianne had been doing some thinking of her own. She’d noticed Hutch watching Harry. She’d noticed his interest in Fitch. She wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going to be fooled by his white knight act. The next day, she was evasive. Hutch tried to charm her into going to lunch with him, but she wasn’t having it. Then, in the street, when two thugs appeared out of nowhere and started chasing them, Hutch was able to shepherd her to safety, which, instead of making her feel more secure, only made her more suspicious.

Afterwards, he took her to his apartment and made her some coffee. She stood, cup in hand, pretending to admire his hanging ivy. Hutch sat at the piano, waiting patiently for her to talk. When it seemed like she would not, he began.

“Marianne, who were those men? What did they want from you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Who are they? Do they own you?”

She smiled wryly. “Don’t they just.”

Hutch looked at her for a few moments, hoping she’d explain. But she didn’t seem to want to explain. Instead, she questioned him.

“Who are you? What do you want from me? You blow in out of nowhere-”

“Like the wind-” Hutch tried to joke.

She ignored him “You’re asking me some pretty heavy stuff.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Are you a cop?”

So she had guessed. Hutch had made himself a promise that day on the canyon road, and now he kept it. He did not lie to her.

“Yes,” he said, looking directly at her. “I’m a cop. I can help you, Marianne.”

Marianne looked at him bitterly for a moment, then grabbed her bag and headed for the door. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Wait! Marianne!” He leaped up and grabbed her before she could get out. “I didn’t want it to happen this way, please believe me. I can help you. I want to help you. I want Fitch. We can work together on this; with your help, we can put him away for a long time.”

“Who do you think you are?” she yelled at him. Her eyes were filling with tears. “I’m a person. A person! You latched onto me to get to Joe Fitch. Well I’m not gonna blow my brother’s brains out for you, or anybody.”

“What do you mean, blow your brother’s brains out? No one’s asking you to do that. I want to help you and your brother.”

“You really don’t get it, do you? If I don’t cooperate with Joe Fitch, he’ll have Harry killed. I have no choice!”

“You have a choice, Marianne. You can let me help you, let me help your brother. You can get a new life-”

“He’s my brother. And it’s my life! And it’s none of your business.” She was screaming now, and crying.

“I’m not talking about your life, I’m talking about your brother’s life. I can help him, help both of you, if you’ll cooperate.” Hutch tried to reason with her. This was blowing up too fast; he wasn’t sure what approach to take. If he chose the wrong one she’d slam the door in his face.

“Yeah, right. You’re full of shit. Why should I believe you? You’ve done nothing but lie to me till now. How do I know you won’t go after Harry?”

“Because I give you my word. You’ve got to trust me, Marianne.”

“Fuck you, Ken. Or whatever your name is.” She tried to open the door, but Hutch had his hand against it.

She looked at him with a steely gaze. “Let me go,” she said evenly. She was no longer crying.

“Please, Marianne, I just want to talk-”

“Well talk away, sailor. Talk to the walls, copper.” She reached for the door again, and this time he did not stop her.

****************************

Hutch got in his car, and drove. He needed to think about what had just happened; he needed to get beyond the pained look in Marianne’s eyes when she realized his betrayal. Hutch knew he was in trouble now. If she wanted to, she could turn him in to Fitch. But he felt better, somehow. Now she knew who he was. Now maybe he could really help her, without having to worry about pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

He decided to risk a meeting with Starsky at the station. But Starsky seemed preoccupied and distant. He didn’t understand what Hutch was going through; in fact, he seemed a bit impatient with him. “You’re supposed to be getting her to testify, not holding her hand,” he said. “If she turns you in to Fitch, you’re a dead man!” Starsky seemed more annoyed than concerned.

Hutch walked away, angry. But his conscience was clear as far as Marianne was concerned. That night, he slept soundly for the first time in a week.

****************************

What Hutch didn’t realize, and what only slowly dawned on him during the course of the next day, was that if Marianne didn’t turn him in to Fitch, she was putting her own life in jeopardy. If Fitch found out that Marianne had knowingly dated a cop, she was a dead woman.

What Hutch underestimated, what he’d never understood, was Marianne’s loyalty to her brother. She’d never testify against Fitch; she could never betray her brother that way. Hutch could promise her the moon, he could promise her new identities for herself and Harry, but she wouldn’t trust him. Hutch saw that now. Still, he needed to give it one more shot. For her sake, he told himself.

He arrived that night in the middle of her set. He stood on the stairs that led down to the club, transfixed by her voice, its sadness and its timbre. He’d told her she reminded him of Billie Holiday, and he had meant it. Not the voice so much as the life story it told; he could hear the rough childhood, the struggle for survival, the years of barely making it, the years in prison for something he was fairly certain her brother had done. Did she feel she owed Harry something? Or was it a survivor’s bond-she and Harry, against the world, forever? What had happened to them when they were children? Had Harry protected her? Had he taken care of her when neither of their parents was able to? Had she taken care of him? Or had they taken care of each other? Hutch didn’t know. As close as he’d gotten to her, much of Marianne was still a mystery to him.

He stood in a corner of the room, listening. Her voice, though sad, was warm. It made him smile. He wondered why sad songs always made him smile.

When she was done, he went backstage to find her. He took her outside, past the back door and into the alley, where he hoped they could be alone.

“Marianne…” he began.

“You mind if I smoke?” she raised an eyebrow, and took out a Virginia Slims. Another man smoked a cigarette not twenty feet from them; Hutch glared at him until he left.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Hutch, lighting her cigarette.

“About what?” she asked, her tone challenging. “It wasn’t too bad, was it?”

Hutch was confused for a moment. “No, no, I’m just sorry about the way things happened.”

“What way is that? You’re there and I’m here. Everything’s more fucked up than it’s ever been-”

“Now listen to me-”

“I don’t wanna listen to you.” Her nonchalant act was gone. She was angry now. “I don’t have to listen to you. I know who you are, I know why you’re here, I know what you want.”

“I want to help you Marianne,” he said again. She didn’t seem to believe him. Who could blame her? Hutch decided to switch gears. “What do you want?” He looked at her intently, probing her face for clues.

“Are you kidding? Don’t insult me. You’re not as interested in what I want as the Man in the Moon. What do I want? I want you out of my life.” She turned away, but Hutch grabbed her arm.

“No.” He could not let her get away. This was his last chance to convince her that she was worth more than a life spent living in her brother’s shadow.

“Let go of me. Let go of me!”

“No! No. Now just stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen to what I have to say.”

“I don’t have to listen.”

“You do,” Hutch said softly. “Please. Marianne, you’ve gotta know something. You’ve gotta know you’re worth more than what Harry and Joe Fitch are able to give you. For once in your life you’ve gotta own that, you’ve gotta own your life. If you agree to testify, we could give you and your brother new identities. You could get far, far away from here. Start over. Fitch isn’t as powerful as you think; he wouldn’t find you. But it’s up to you. You’ve gotta make that choice, Marianne.” He was pleading with her now.

Marianne stared back at him defiantly. “Why don’t you leave me alone? I’m making the only choice I know how. Don’t you understand that? D’ya think I’m dumb? You think I wanna see more killing? Don’t you know what Fitch does to people who squeal? I do. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

“There is another choice, Marianne,” he interrupted.

“There isn’t any other choice.”

“Yes there is.” Why couldn’t she see?

“All right, I’ll make another choice,” she declared. He looked at her, hopeful. But her eyes danced mockingly. “You. I want you. I’ll marry you. We’ll run away together and live happily ever after. All you have to do is say yes.”

Hutch frowned and shook his head. “That’s not the point.” She had misunderstood him completely.

“All you have to do is say yes,” she repeated. She looked at him with those knowing eyes, eyes that had been used before and were not so surprised they were being used again. Oh, she hadn’t misunderstood. She knew exactly what he was willing to do for her, and what he wasn’t.

Hutch’s head dropped in despair. She looked at him ruefully. “See ya later, cowboy,” she said, and walked back through the door into the club.

Hutch barely had a moment to realize that he had lost his last chance to persuade her, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Ken!” someone called. A flashbulb went off. There were two, maybe three men in the alley. Hutch couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, they were on him.

****************************

Marianne didn’t turn him away when he showed up at her dressing room door, bruised and bleeding.

“What happened? Who did this?” She knelt over his bent body. “Who did this?”

“The Man in the Moon,” he answered bitterly, still breathing hard. He had fought them off, but just barely. They could have hurt him much worse if they’d wanted, but they weren’t after that. It seemed they just wanted to take his picture.

She would stay with him that night, because he was hurt. But he knew that she stayed more out of pity and guilt than anything else.

****************************

Hutch dressed quickly the next morning, by himself. Marianne had gone out early but she wouldn’t say where.

“What’re you gonna do?” he’d asked.

“The best I can.”

“You sure that’s what you want?”

“I can’t do it,” she was almost whispering. “I can’t walk away from this life.”

Hutch sighed heavily. He had to try again, even if it meant a lie. “We could do it.”

“You really believe that?”

“I’d like to.”

“So would I.” But of course, she couldn’t. She didn’t. His skin was paper-thin, his motives were transparent.

She was right, of course. He’d wanted to help her, he honestly had. But he wasn’t in love with her, he wasn’t going to marry her. His help could only go so far. It couldn’t heal the hurt in her life. It couldn’t make her brother go straight, or make up for the time she’d spent in prison. When he really thought about it, there was very little he could do for her. There was a lot she could do for him, but it would have meant risking her brother’s life, which she’d never agree to. She loved Harry and would protect him forever. Hutch could understand that.

When Hutch got back to his apartment, Starsky was there with pictures that Joe Fitch had put out on the street, pictures that his thugs had been so eager to snap the night before. It took him a second to realize that Fitch would’ve used those pictures to identify him, and would know by now that he was a cop. Because he knew, and Marianne hadn’t been the one to tell him, Marianne’s life was in danger. Fitch would assume she’d been helping Hutch all along. Fitch would assume she’d turn him in, along with her brother. Hutch almost smiled at the irony. Fitch didn’t know her at all.

They sped towards her apartment in the Torino, not speaking at all, except when Hutch had to give Starsky some direction. When they got there, it was too late. Hutch heard a shot as he was running upstairs, and then Marianne’s screams. Marianne was fine, but Harry was not. He lay, crumpled against the wall, her suitcase in front of him not protection enough against a bullet from Joe Fitch’s hired gun. Marianne crouched beside him, sobbing.

“Harry, no. Oh Harry. Oh God, Harry.” The little boy she’d always protected, the grown man who still depended on her, lay dying in her arms.

Starsky had taken the stairs in the rear of the building, while Hutch had gone up the front stairs. They got to the hallway in front of Marianne’s apartment at the same time, on opposite ends.

“Freeze, police!” shouted Starsky. Fitch’s man turned around and pointed his gun; Starsky aimed and fired once. The man fell.

Fitch cowered in a doorway, his hands up. “Ok, ok, I give up,” he said. Hutch turned him around, roughly, and slapped the cuffs on him. They’d caught the bad guys, but Harry was dead. Marianne’s life would never be the same.

Later, at the station, Marianne told them what had happened. Harry had come to her in a panic, insisting that she pack a suitcase and get out of town. But she had refused, insisting she could never leave him. Before he had a chance to argue, Fitch had shown up with Casey, his driver and bodyguard. He wanted her dead, and Harry was supposed to deliver her. The fact that he hadn’t was sure evidence that they had both betrayed him. So all this time while she was trying so desperately to protect her brother by not betraying Fitch, Fitch thought she was talking. There was no way she could have convinced him otherwise. He was paranoid; it was his nature. He would have killed them both if Starsky and Hutch had not shown up.

When she had finished telling her story, she looked up at Hutch. “Satisfied now, copper? You got what you wanted, didn’t you.”

“I never wanted it to be this way, Marianne. I only wanted to help you. And Harry.”

“Please,” Marianne said bitterly. “I wish you could’ve just stayed out of our lives.”

Hutch lowered his head. He felt badly, but he knew she’d testify against Fitch now. Her brother was dead, and she had no one left to protect. But she’d never be whole again. This was not the way it was supposed to end.

****************************

A few days later, Starsky was reading the newspaper while Hutch spritzed the plants in his greenhouse. Spritzing and talking to his green beauties usually calmed him after a rough case. But it wasn’t working today.

” ‘Wild monkeys eat woman and child,’ ” Starsky read, from a page way in the back of the paper.

“What?” Hutch said, startled.

” ‘A pack of hunger-crazed monkeys went on a rampage in the remote province of Macula last week, devouring a woman and her young child out for a pleasure stroll…’ ”

“Starsky, that is absolutely disgusting, I mean, what does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s depressing, Hutch. Any world where a bunch of wild monkeys can be running around eating innocent people is not a terrific place to live.”

“Starsky, those are animals. They live on instinct; they’re motivated by survival. They’re not being intentionally cruel. If you ask me, I find human beings far more depressing.”

“Oh really?”

“Oh really. Some days, I’d rather just hang around here all day, enjoying the very pleasant company of my plants. They never get me down. You should try it sometime. Get yourself a couple of plants. Stop reading the stupid newspaper.” Hutch glanced at the paper Starsky was reading. “Or read a better one.”

Starsky folded the paper and put it on his lap. He looked at his partner. “Do you know those are the most words you’ve strung together all morning?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hutch grunted. He pretended to closely examine a ficus.

“You’ve barely said a word to me since we closed the Fitch case. Cat got your tongue?”

“I’ve been talking. But you haven’t been listening.”

“Yes I have, Hutch, yes I have. You just haven’t been saying things that make sense.”

Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Make sense? You mean like wild monkeys in Macao-”

“Macula,” corrected Starsky.

“Whatever. You want me to make sense out of a woman who’s had her life ruined by us? Not by monkeys, Starsky, by you and me. We’re supposed to be helping people! You want me to make sense out of a two-bit hustler who’s lying in the morgue until his sister can pay for a proper burial, while the real villain deals with the lawyers in the district attorney’s office? How much you think he’ll get, Starsk? Twenty years? Life? Or maybe he’ll strike a deal, for an even bigger banana, and end up getting out in 10 to 12. You tell me, which part of that makes sense, Starsky?” Hutch was standing now, his ire up, his right index finger pointed at his partner’s chest.

“Hutch. Hutch, you knew going in that this was gonna be a tough case. You knew-” and here he took a deep breath before continuing “-you knew Marianne was not totally blameless. She knew about her brother’s activities. She knew about Fitch. So yes, you can let yourself feel badly about what happened. You can let yourself feel bad about what you think we did to them. But in the end, you have to remember that they did at least part of it to themselves.” Starsky looked intently at his partner, waiting for his reaction.

Hutch ran one hand over his face, and sank back onto the bench. “Starsky, we’re supposed to be making people’s lives better, not worse. Look how badly we’ve fucked up Marianne’s.”

“Yeah, but think of all the people Fitch won’t get his dirty claws into now.”

“Oh come on, Starsk. You know that when one Joe Fitch goes away, there’s another one just waiting to take his place. We clean up one part of town, meanwhile another place is festering in filth.”

“You really feel that way, Hutch? You feel like our jobs are meaningless?”

“No, not meaningless. Although lately…” his voice trailed away. He was thinking of all the deals he’d made with himself, all the rationalizations he’d made to go on doing his job. He thought of his long drive two weeks ago along the canyon road.

“Lately what?” prodded Starsky. Hutch still seemed very unhappy, but at least he was talking.

“Lately, I’ve been wondering, how many more years do I have in me? How long before a line gets drawn that I can’t cross? How long before I have to choose between my ethics and my job?”

Starsky raised his eyebrows. Police work had lately lost a lot of its satisfaction for him, too, but he wasn’t sure he was as far gone as Hutch. “Well, when you get to that place, let me know, will ya? Keep me informed. Because if you go, I don’t know if I can stay.”

Hutch smiled. He leaned back and relaxed for the first time all day. “Starsky, you know I love you, don’t you?” He riffled his hand through Starsky’s curls.

“Sure,” Starsky shrugged.

“You know, it didn’t mean anything to me. I cared for her, I wanted to help her, but I wasn’t in love with her.”

“I know, I know. You need to be the knight in shining armor. It’s your thing,” said Starsky, smiling sideways at Hutch. Hutch was startled at the words; they were practically the same ones he’d thought to himself a few days ago. It was good to be talking again. They’d spent so much time apart lately, it felt like their connection had been damaged. They needed to take a few days to repair it.

“Maybe the line I’ll have to draw is the lying. I hate the lying, Starsk. I hate the deception of undercover work, especially when I’m forced to lie to and cheat on good people, people I care about.”

“Hutch, you weren’t cheating on-” Starsky leaned over to pat Hutch’s leg.

“You know what I mean. At first it was fun, the goofy disguises, the role-playing. I could get lost in pretending to be another person for awhile. But too often, it gets away from me. It leaves me feeling out of control, like I’m not sure of who I am anymore. I don’t like it.”

“So what’re you saying?”

Hutch looked at him. “Maybe I can’t do undercover work anymore. Maybe I need to…find a different beat.”

Starsky thought for a moment. “You could always take the lieutenant’s test. You’ve talked about doing that. Maybe this is the right time.”

“Maybe. Maybe you’re right. I need to think about it.”

“You think about it. But once in awhile, let me know what’s going on in that blond head of yours, ok? I don’t like feeling left out.”

“I’ll let you know. Hey. You know what’s going on in my head right now?”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, I was thinking, it’s two o’clock right now. Probably four hours or so till dinner at Huggy’s. And I was thinking, you know I don’t mind that plaid shirt on you, but I’d like you so much better with it off.”

“Oh, is that what you were thinking? My, my. What else were you thinking, Detective Hutchinson?”

“Well, I was thinking that really the t-shirt could go, too. And the pants.”

“And the pants, huh?” Starsky was already rising, unbuttoning his shirt, moving towards the bedroom. “You do have a dirty mind, you know that?”

“You better believe it, Detective Starsky. And you don’t know the half of it.” Hutch grinned wickedly, snatching up the fallen newspaper, rolling it up and whacking it across Starsky’s ass as he chased him into the bedroom.

the end