The One Left Behind

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Starsky and Hutch are both attacked and made to believe the other has died. When disaster strikes, what will become of the one left behind?

 

We thank our publishers, Keri T. and Paula Wilshe, who printed this story in their Zine, Venice Place Times I, in October 2001. We also thank our editor, Donna Engle, who helps us look as good as we possibly can. Their support and friendship are treasures.

Archivist note: Two art pieces created for this story and published in the Venice Place Times I zine have been added to this story.

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All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
  –J.R.R. Tolkein, The Fellowship of the Ring

 

Part I of IV

Detectives Ken Hutchinson and Dave Starsky drove their separate cars to work that morning. Hutch had to leave for an appointment at his attorney’s office and Starsky agreed to stay late and finish their paperwork so he could go. He didn’t know what his partner was up to, but he knew Hutch would tell him when he was ready.

They had been working hard on a drug running case. Homicide was a little light in the city at the moment and Captain Dobey had loaned his two best detectives to the narcotics team to help break this case. Earlier in the day, they had finally made an arrest. One of the drug runners had been snared in a trap they set for him. Terrified of prison, the man wanted to make a deal. He had already given them valuable information on the group’s plans. Starsky wrapped up the paperwork and headed to Hutch’s to discuss their next steps.

When Hutch returned to Venice Place after his appointment, he had no idea he wasn’t alone. Word of the arrest had quickly reached some of the higher ups in the drug cartel they were chasing. Another drug gang member had seen the arrest go down and had gotten away. He recognized Starsky and Hutch. Finding out where the blond detective lived had been a disturbingly simple matter.

As Hutch walked toward the kitchen, he heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked and he froze.

“Good evening, Detective,” the voice behind him said. “Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Hutch did as he was instructed. Two men were standing in his apartment holding him at gunpoint. Hutch recognized one of them immediately as Jack Terrel, the head henchman for one of the biggest drug lords in the area. The detectives had arrested Terrel on a possession charge early in their partnership and he still bore a grudge against them for the time he had served. The other man moved toward him and disarmed him. He didn’t recognize the second man, but he was a giant. Must be one of Terrel’s goons.

“What do you want, Terrel?” Hutch asked. His irritation was evident in his tightly controlled tone. His stomach was already twisting into a knot with the realization that he and Starsky had stumbled onto a big fish with this current case.

“Why, we want you, Hutchinson. You are going to help us complete our next delivery.”

“You’re crazy. I’m not going to help you,” Hutch snarled at him.

“Oh, but you are. If you don’t, we’ll kill your partner. Why don’t you just behave yourself and maybe neither one of you will get hurt.”

That certainly had Hutch’s attention. He hadn’t seen Starsky in a couple of hours. Possibly, these goons had done something to him already. He started to say something else when he heard the distinctive sounds of the Torino as it pulled to a stop on the street underneath the open front windows. Terrel heard it, too, and he crossed to peek out the window, still training his gun on Hutch.

He and the other man ducked into the bathroom, ordering Hutch to keep his mouth shut and to get rid of his partner. “You make a false move and he’s dead.” The man knew how to control Hutch. “I’ve got someone in my van down there. If you come down those stairs with anyone other than me, he has orders to kill whoever it is. Especially if it’s your partner.” Terrel closed the door almost shut, leaving a crack he could peek through to keep an eye on the two detectives.

Hutch had no doubt the man would make good on his threat. He frantically tried to think of an excuse to get Starsky out of the apartment without him figuring out something was wrong.

Starsky bounded up the stairs and knocked on the front door. “Hey, Blondie, open up!”

Hutch took a deep breath, formulating what he hoped was a good lie in his mind as he opened the door. “Hey.”

He walked away from the door, putting his best undercover face on so he could fool Starsky. He prayed his partner didn’t need the facilities, but Starsky headed straight for the refrigerator, pulling out a soda to drink.

“Wanna talk about tomorrow?”

I forgot, we’re supposed to plan tomorrow’s action. Hutch quickly regrouped in his head.

When Starsky finally turned around to look at Hutch, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what looked funny to him, but something wasn’t right.

“Yeah, but let’s do it over dinner, okay?” He figured that wouldn’t be a hard sell.

“Sure, Huggy’s?”

“Great. Why don’t you head on over there, I’m gonna get cleaned up and I’ll meet you.”

Starsky looked at him closely. “You all right, Blintz ?”

Hutch did his best to hide his panic from his partner. He had to sell this and do it quickly.

“Yeah, of course, why?” Hutch did his best to sound casual.

“Don’t you wanna ride down there together?” Starsky asked curiously.

Hutch had a ready answer for that and he hoped it would be enough. “I was thinking we could drop my car off at Merle’s on the way back home. Almost didn’t want to start again this afternoon and it’s missing again.”

The lie worked. Starsky was always on him to at least let Merle take a look at the car for him. “Okay. See you there in thirty?”

“That’s great, thanks.”

Hutch watched in relief as his partner left, but he didn’t really relax until he heard the Torino pull away from the curb.

Terrel and his accomplice walked back into the room. “Very good, Hutchinson. Quite a performance.”

“What’s the plan, Terrel?” Hutch was worried about what would come next, but relieved he had gotten Starsky out of danger.

“Well, we hear you busted one of our runners this morning. No doubt he has already told you about our plans for tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. The man hasn’t been in the lockup long enough to say much of anything. He hasn’t even been arraigned.” Hutch knew the lie wouldn’t fool Terrel, but he had to attempt it.

“Nice try, Detective. Now, you’re coming with us. We’ll just give your partner a call later and warn him to keep everyone away from tomorrow’s activities, if he wants you to live.”

Hutch smirked at him, looking as confident as he could. “No way, Terrel. Starsky won’t go for it and even if he would, the department won’t. I’m a cop. Expendable.”

“We’ll see, Cop. Now move it.”

While this discussion was taking place, Starsky had only made it a block from Hutch’s place when he realized what had been bothering him. Hutch’s holster was empty. No Magnum. Why would he take the gun out but leave the holster on empty? He swung the Torino into a quick U-turn and headed back to Venice Place.

Just as Terrel was telling Hutch to move, Starsky was creeping up the stairs with his gun drawn. Something bad was going on and he wasn’t taking any chances. The other gunman heard the sound of someone on the stairs and moved to stand behind the door. When Starsky came through the door in a crouch, his gun pointed at Terrel, the other man quickly hit him across the back of the head with the butt of his pistol, sending Starsky unconscious to the floor.

Hutch took a step toward him, but Terrel pointed his gun at Hutch’s head and told him not to move.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Brooks, take him into the bathroom and take care of him.”

The other man grunted his understanding, picked Starsky up easily in a fireman’s carry and took him into the bathroom. Tod Brooks was not a bright man. He laid Starsky on the floor, pondering what Terrel meant by “take care of him.” He decided that must mean to kill him. How to kill him without making a lot of noise, though? He could drown him, but that would take too long. Besides, Starsky might come around and fight him. Suddenly, he had the solution. He pulled out a switchblade and got to work.

A few minutes later, Hutch heard something clatter to the floor in the bathroom. When Brooks opened the bathroom door, he was horrified at what he saw. A bloody switchblade lay on the floor next to one of Starsky’s arms. He could see a large puddle of blood forming under his partner’s wrist and he went wild with the realization that the goon must have cut Starsky’s wrists. He would bleed to death in minutes if Hutch didn’t help him.

Terrel had turned his gaze away from Hutch when Brooks walked out of the bathroom. He was yelling at the bigger man, “You moron! I didn’t tell you to kill him!”

Hutch lunged for Terrel’s gun, but Brooks saw what he was doing. Before Terrel could stop him, Brooks aimed at Hutch and fired. As Hutch fell, he hit his head on the sofa table. He lay on the floor bleeding and disoriented. He could hear the conversation going on over him.

“Dammit Every cop in Bay City is gonna be here inside of five minutes. Check Starsky.”

Hutch heard footsteps, then Brooks said, “He’s dead.”

Terrel yelled again, “Idiot! How’s the plan supposed to work now? Bring Hutchinson. We’ll take him along anyway. I’ll think of something.”

Hutch’s mind was screaming. He weakly moaned, “No! Starsky!” He felt the big man pick him up as blackness overtook him.

The two men quickly left Venice Place, leaving a trail of Hutch’s blood down the stairs. Brooks tossed Hutch into the back of a van the two men had left parked outside. He slid the door closed and opened the front passenger door to get into the van. Terrel aimed his gun at him and said, “Uh-uh, moron. One mistake too many.” He fired a single shot, hitting Brooks in the head. The man was dead before he hit the concrete. Terrel sped away in the van. He had lied to Hutch. No other man had been waiting in the van.

Marjorie Taylor, one of Hutch’s neighbors, had been out for a walk when she heard the shot coming from the apartment. She jumped at the sound and stopped on the sidewalk below Hutch’s place. She heard the yelling and could make out that someone was about to leave. She quickly ducked into a doorway to hide. From her vantage point she saw the men come out of the building carrying Hutch, but she didn’t see his partner. Marjorie recognized Starsky’s car parked at the curb across the street.

After the van sped away, Marjorie did something foolish. When she stepped out of her hiding place, she gulped at the sight of the dead man lying on the sidewalk, and then she assumed the bad guys were all gone and raced up the stairs to Hutch’s apartment to see if Starsky was there.

Looking around the room, Marjorie took in several things quickly. Blood stained the floor in the living room and there was more on the sofa table. She had also seen a trail of blood on the stairs leading up to the apartment. When her eyes turned toward the bathroom, her heart nearly froze.

“Oh, my God, Starsky!”

Racing into the bathroom, Marjorie took one look at the pale, unconscious man on the floor and knew Starsky was in serious trouble. He still had a weak pulse, but he might bleed to death before help could arrive. Thinking quickly, she reached up and pulled the pony tail holders off of her long, dark braids. She used the elastic bands to help staunch the flow of blood from Starsky’s wrists. Then she raced back to the living room, found the phone and called for an ambulance and the police. Cool and collected in an emergency, she had the presence of mind to tell them it was a police officer down, knowing that would get an extra measure of rapid response.

Returning to the bathroom, she grabbed some washcloths. Marjorie used them to apply pressure to both wounds, pulling Starsky’s arms up well above his heart in an effort to slow down the bleeding. “Please don’t die, Starsky. Help is coming!” she urged him. After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the mixed sounds of various emergency vehicles as they screamed up outside the apartment.

Knowing cops were about to charge in with their weapons drawn, she called out as soon as she heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, “Help, I’m in here!”

A sandy-haired officer in plain clothes appeared in the bathroom doorway with gun drawn. He took one look and went a little pale. “Starsky? Oh, God. Sean, quick, call an ambulance!”

The other officer backed away, but Marjorie said, “I already called an ambulance.”

“Who are you?” the first officer asked, kneeling next to them and feeling the fluttering pulse in Starsky’s throat. Starsky gave a low moan but stayed unconscious.

“A neighbor,” she said. “Some man took Hutch away in a van.”

“Did you get a license number?” As he questioned her, the officer took over keeping pressure on the wounds. Marjorie let him; her own arms were going to sleep from the effort.

“No, just a piece of it,” she said. “It all happened so fast.”

The second officer — ‘Sean, this one had called him — ‘produced a notebook. “Tell me whatever you can remember.”

“It was a dark blue van, a Chevy, with those little round windows in the sides,” she said. “There was a dent in the passenger door and a big rusty spot on one of the back doors. California license, ABJ 4 and two more digits, but I didn’t get those. I’m sorry.”

Sean was staring at her wide-eyed. “That’s a damned good description for a quick look.”

She shrugged and started to answer when she heard the siren of the approaching ambulance.

“Go tell them we’re up here,” the first cop told Sean. “Otherwise, they’ll see the stiff and waste a lot of time, and Starsky ain’t got any to waste.”

“Right.” Sean launched himself out the door.

Marjorie felt Starsky’s forehead and he was too cool — ‘going into shock from loss of blood. “Starsky, dammit, don’t you die!” she said, gently patting his cheeks. “Come on, honey, the ambulance is here now.”

The attendants hurried in and took charge, leaving Marjorie and the officer to watch. “I’ll need your name and address,” the officer said to her.

“Shouldn’t somebody go with him?” she said, indicating Starsky.

“We’ll call his captain,” the officer said. “We have to report Hutch missing, too. Did he look hurt or anything?”

She swallowed, suddenly remembering how pale and still Hutch had been. “Yeah. He did.”

~*~*~*~

The first thing Hutch felt when he came to was nauseated. He didn’t remember what had happened, but he was lying in a heap on the floor of a van and between the pain in his head and the rocking of the van, he thought he was going to be sick. He raised one shaky hand to his aching head and it came away bloody. Blood…?

Then he remembered. Starsky!

Starsky, lying on his bathroom floor with blood all around him…dead or dying and no one to help him.

His head was foggy and his ears were ringing. He remembered the big goon saying Starsky was dead. Oh, God, Starsk! You can’t be dead. Please don’t be dead! He knew there was little hope that Starsky was alive now, though. His wrists slashed and blood flowing out at a rapid pace, Starsky probably really was dead before they even left the apartment. Hutch thought about the look on Starsky’s face when he burst through the front door, then flashed on the sight of him lying in his own blood. He felt sick.

Despite the fiery pain in his shoulder, Hutch turned to his side and was violently ill. In his pain over the thought that Starsky was dead, he had forgotten he had been shot.

His captor looked back in his direction from the driver’s seat. “Great, Hutchinson. Lie down and knock that off or I’ll have to gag you.” The man let loose an evil laugh. He knew if he gagged Hutch while he was nauseated it could kill him.

He didn’t have to tell Hutch twice. As he took a sharp turn, the dizziness overcame Hutch and he passed out again. Jack Terrel pulled into the Mandalay Heights airfield. Terrel was going to fly Hutch out of Bay City and down to Rosarito Beach in Baja California. This would be the first step in a long journey, if the blond cop lived long enough to complete it.

~*~*~*~

The ambulance carrying Starsky screamed into Memorial’s emergency bay. The paramedics quickly transferred the gurney into the hospital. David Starsky was almost out of time.

The emergency team scrambled to save Starsky’s life. He had lost much of his blood volume and they immediately started him on O negative blood while they typed and cross-matched him. Dr. James Sorrento wasted no time, “Who’s on call for vascular?”

One of the nurses answered, “Dr. Koenig.”

“Page him to the O.R. stat. Let’s prep him to transfer up there.”

Another nurse entered the room with more bags of blood. She recognized Starsky. “Oh, my God, that’s David Starsky!”

Dr. Sorrento looked up grimly. “What a mess.”

The team cut off Starsky’s clothes, throwing everything into a bag, they hung another unit of blood, then they moved him out to the elevator on the way to the operating room. “Hustle, he’s bleeding it out as fast as we’re putting it in!”

Dr. Sorrento stood and shook his head as the elevator doors closed. “Such a young man.”

He turned to the nurse standing next to him and said, “Suicide on the police force is a problem. What a shame.” No one had ridden in with Starsky. The doctor made a natural assumption that his patient had tried to kill himself. As he turned away from the elevator, Dr. Sorrento made a silent prayer that he didn’t succeed.

~*~*~*~*

Back at Venice Place, the crime lab team was crawling all over every inch looking for clues to what had happened. They were taking pictures of the bloody mess in the bathroom when Captain Dobey appeared at the door.

Dobey hollered at the lab boys, “Don’t forget to analyze that blood on the stairs.”

A quiet female voice replied, “It’s Hutch’s blood.”

Captain Dobey looked toward the sound and saw a young woman sitting in a chair at Hutch’s kitchen table. Her hair hung down in long, partially unwound braids and her clothes were soaked in blood.

One of the lab team boys walked up to Dobey and said, “Slashed his wrists.”

Dobey said, “Who did?”

“Starsky.”

“What!?” His voice was so loud, everyone in the place stopped what they were doing and stared. Dobey looked at them disapprovingly. “Well, don’t just stand there, keep moving.”

He walked over and sat at the table with the young woman. “I’m Captain Dobey. Hutchinson and his partner are my men.”

Marjorie nodded. “Marjorie Taylor. I’m one of Hutch’s neighbors. I know them both.”

Captain Dobey looked at her with compassion and gently asked, “Can you tell me what happened here?”

Poor Marjorie was beginning to break down a little over everything she had seen. “So much blood. God.”

“Starsky’s blood?” he asked her kindly.

She nodded. “I tried to stop it.” he reached up and touched her hair with a hand covered with dried blood. “Used my pony tail holders.” Marjorie looked up at him, her dark brown eyes bright with tears that started to slide down her face. She wiped at them in frustration, “I’m sorry, Captain Dobey. I’m not helping. What can I tell you?”

Dobey was impressed with this young woman. She had obviously run into hell and done a good job of getting things under control. He thought she was entitled to lose it a little now.

“You’re doing fine. What did you see?”

Marjorie recounted everything she had told the other officers. She told them how she had heard the gunshot and the argument from the sidewalk below. Marjorie had watched the man who drove away in the van shoot the dead man in the head. She pointed at the bloodstains on Hutch’s floor and on the sofa table. The crime lab team had gotten blood and blond hairs off of the table.

“When I saw Starsky, I called for an ambulance. I told them there was an officer down. I thought they might go faster. Was that okay?” She looked lost and sad.

“Good thinking. Do you know what happened to Starsky?” Captain Dobey refused to believe Starsky had slashed his own wrists.

Marjorie shook her head. “I thought I heard Hutch scream ‘No, Starsky!’ just before the gunshot, but I’m not sure. I tried to help him. So much blood.”

“Thank you,” Captain Dobey said. “I’ll have one of my officers take you home.”

Her head snapped up at that, “No, I want to go to the hospital. He shouldn’t be alone. ”

How could Dobey deny her this request? She had acted so bravely and if Starsky lived, he would have her to thank for it.

“I’m going there in a few minutes. Would you like to clean up first?

She looked at her clothes and held her hands out in front of her, really noticing the dried blood and how much of it was on her. “Yes, thank you. I won’t take long. Please wait.”

Dobey held out his hand to help her to her feet. He watched her walk out of the apartment to go home. I hope it was enough too.

~*~*~*~

It was dark when Hutch came to again. At least he didn’t feel like throwing up anymore, but his stomach was empty and rolling still. His shoulder was on fire with the pain from the bullet wound there and his headache was, if anything, worse.

But the pain in his heart hurt worst of all. He couldn’t get the picture of Starsky lying there bleeding out of his mind, and he had no way of knowing if his buddy was dead or alive.

As his head cleared, he realized they weren’t moving anymore. He blinked and raised his head a little to look around. He was in some sort of shelter, dirty and dark, lying on a dirt floor. He could hear the sounds of night insects outside but nothing else. No traffic. No voices. And except for himself, the shelter was empty. He struggled to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain in his shoulder. The blood had dried and matted in his hair and his shirtsleeve was stiff with blood, too. So the bleeding had stopped. That was an encouraging sign, since Hutch was reasonably sure Terrel wasn’t going to take him to a doctor.

His eyes adjusted a little to the dimness and he could make out the door. The shed appeared to be one of those small wooden garden sheds some people had in their backyards, but Hutch couldn’t begin to guess where he was. There wasn’t room to stand, and he wasn’t too sure he could stand up, anyway, so he crawled over to the door and tried it. Locked. Of course. And with one arm all but useless, he didn’t think he could break it down. He reached into his pocket for his watch, but it was gone. So was his wallet, his police ID and his holster.

Voices. Several yards away, but in the unearthly quiet of the night, the voices carried clearly to Hutch, listening in the shed.

“¿Debemos checar al gringo?” (“Should we look in on the American?”)

“¿Por qué?” (“Why?”)

“Podria estar muerto.” (“He could be dead.”)

A short laugh. “Hutchinson? No.”

“Si está muerto, el señor estará muy enojado con nosotros.” (“If he’s dead, the man will be very angry with us.”)

Low muttering, then footsteps approached the shed. Hutch immediately lay back down and shut his eyes. He was in no condition to try to overpower two men, and if they found him conscious, they might well do something else to him. He needed time to regain his strength.

The door opened and someone knelt beside him, felt his pulse, and pried one eye open.

“Está vivo. Cuídelo.” (“Alive. You guard him.”)

The door closed again and one set of footsteps retreated. Hutch heard the other man sit down and lean against the door, then he heard the sound of a lighter flicking. In a moment, he could smell marijuana burning.

~*~*~*~

Dobey and Marjorie arrived at the hospital while Starsky was still in surgery. No one was willing to tell them anything other than that he was being treated. So, there was nothing they could do but wait.

In a couple of hours, a man wearing a suit and tie approached. “Captain Dobey?”

Dobey stood. “I’m Dobey.”

“Dr. Petersen,” the man said. “I’m a psychiatrist. We’re admitting Mr. Starsky to the psychiatric ward if he survives the surgery.”

“What?” Dobey roared, making Marjorie jump, and even the doctor took a step back.

“It’s standard procedure in attempted suicides,” the doctor said coldly.

“Starsky did not attempt suicide!” Dobey shouted. “He was attacked, and his partner was kidnapped! You are not admitting one of my best officers to the psych ward!”

“Captain,” Petersen said, obviously trying to remain calm, “he slit his wrists.”

Dobey opened his mouth again, but stopped when he saw Sean Cavanaugh hurrying down the corridor toward him. “Captain!” Cavanaugh called. “We lifted a good set of prints off the knife in the bathroom.”

“Whose?”

“The man who was shot outside Hutch’s. Tod Brooks,” Cavanaugh said, stopping next to Dobey and nodding at Marjorie and the doctor. “Dumb as a porch post, that guy. He’s got a record a mile long. Hill’s going through his files now trying to figure out who he mighta been workin’ with because we figure that’s who’s got Hutch.”

“Good work,” Dobey said. He turned to the doctor and with exaggerated patience, added, “Don’t you suppose Starsky’s fingerprints would have been on that knife if he’d slit his own wrists, doctor?”

“What?” Cavanaugh stared at the doctor. “You thought Starsky tried to kill himself? No way! How’s Starsky doin’, Cap’n?”

“He’s still in surgery.”

“Damn.” Cavanaugh shook his head. “You stayin’ with him, then?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll get back to the precinct. You want me and Jack to stick with this, don’t you?”

“Top priority,” Dobey said.

“Right. I’ll keep you posted. And I’ll light a candle for the both of them soon’s I get a chance, too.” Cavanaugh turned to go, but as he passed the doctor, he muttered, loud enough to be heard, “Starsky commit suicide? No way….”

Captain Dobey turned back to the shocked psychiatrist. “Would you please tell them to check him for a blow to the head, too? If they think he slit his wrists, they probably didn’t look for that. I guarantee you that David Starsky didn’t go down without a fight. Especially if his partner’s life was in danger.”

Dr. Peterson nodded. “I will. Look, I’m sorry, you have to understand it was a natural assumption.”

Dobey’s face softened. “Of course, Doc. Just take care of him. I don’t want to have to tell his partner if we lose him.”

~*~*~*~

The door to the small shed flew open, letting a sudden shaft of light beam down on Hutch, lying on the ground, bloody and unconscious. The man who had been guarding the door stood aside while another man ducked his head in the doorway and took a step inside. The next thing he did was dump a bucket of cold water on Hutch’s head, roughly bringing him back to consciousness.

“Despiérte, poli!” (“Wake up, Cop “)

Hutch groaned and rolled his head from side to side.

“Poli! ¿Hablas español?” (“Cop! You speak Spanish?”)

Hutch managed to open his eyes a slit, squinting at the bright light. He wondered why he was hearing Spanish, but he answered, “Sí, un poco” (“Yes, a little”)

“Levántese!” (“Get up!”)

Hutch obliged, slowly. As he sat up, the shed began to spin. Rough hands grabbed him and hauled him up to his feet. Doing his best to stay on his feet, he felt the hands push his head down low enough to clear the doorframe and he staggered out into the morning breeze. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw he was standing next to a shed in the middle of a field of ocotillo and scrub. Looking to his right, he saw the ocean and felt the salt on his lips. A look at his two guardians and he was suddenly struck with a revelation. Oh, my God, I’m in Mexico.

“Where am I? Uh, dónde estoy?” He didn’t believe they’d answer him, but he hoped they might at least confirm that he was in Mexico.

The two men just laughed at him and shoved him forward, toward the cliffs. The pain in his left shoulder was intense. A glance down at his shirt revealed that the bleeding had started again. He tried to reach up and move the shirt aside so he could look at the bullet wound, but his hand was grabbed and jerked behind him. When the guard yanked his left arm behind him to tie his wrists, he cried out from the pain and collapsed to his knees. His captor kicked him down to the ground, finishing the job of tying his wrists while Hutch retched. He had nothing in his stomach.

When the retching stopped, the large man dragged Hutch back to his feet. “Camina, perro!” (“Walk, dog!”)

Hutch stumbled and tripped his way down near the edge, directly above the ocean. He blinked from the stinging in his eyes as he recognized Terrel walking toward him. He was holding a gun, a small bag, and a camera. Not a combination that made Hutch very comfortable at the moment.

Trying to sound tough, confident, and unintimidated while bleeding, dizzy, and nauseated is difficult. Hutch contemplated the irony briefly, then he said to Terrel, “What am I doing here? Where is my partner?”

Terrel smiled maliciously. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. All in good time, Hutchinson. Sosténgalo,” (“Hold him”) Terrel ordered the guards.

The two men each held Hutch securely, while Terrel stepped up to him. He handed the camera to one of the men, holstered his gun and opened up the bag. He pulled out a small jar and a not so small knife. Hutch swallowed hard, trying not to let any fear show on his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Patience, Detective. We have all the time in the world. Well, the rest of your time in it anyway.”

Terrel pulled Hutch’s sleeve up and dug the knife into the flesh of his upper left arm. Hutch gritted his teeth and fought the urge to pass out from the pain. The next thing Terrel did frightened and confused him. He put the jar up against Hutch’s arm and allowed the blood to flow into it.

“Terrel?” he said through clenched teeth.

“You asked about your partner, hero. You don’t need to worry about him. It’s just you and me now.”

Hutch’s stomach felt like it had just dropped to his knees. “What do you mean by that crack?”

“Oh, not much. You see, he’s dead. No need to worry about him”

“You’re lying!” Hutch shouted at him as he tried unsuccessfully to jerk away from the vice-like grip of the guards holding him. His head was pounding, everything hurt, and he was sure he had a fever already. He was in serious trouble and still his heart ached.

“Don’t you remember? My moronic assistant took care of him before we left your place. Slashed his wrists as I recall. Pity, such a young man bleeding to death like that. They’ll probably think he killed himself.”

Hutch struggled against the guards, his rage tiring him even more. He blinked back tears and snapped, “I’m gonna kill you, Terrel. Never pick on a man’s partner.” Hutch knew how ridiculous that sounded, but he didn’t care. He was in shock and furious. Grief stole around his heart like a lead blanket. His only thought beyond the pain was that he would probably be dead soon and join Starsky.

Terrel was satisfied with the work he had done, and he nodded to the two guards, instructing them to walk Hutch right to the edge. After they did that, the two men forced the blond onto his knees.

“Hinquese!” (“On your knees!”)

The two men released Hutch’s arms and stood away from him. One of them pointed a gun at Hutch’s head while Terrel took some pictures. Hutch was convinced they were about to execute him, and he silently sent up his last prayers.

Hutch heard the shot and flinched, but he didn’t feel the pain. The bullet struck the ground fifteen feet in front of him. Before he could turn his head to see what was happening, the guard walked toward him and hit him on the back of his head with the gun. Hutch fell over onto the dirt and rocks.

Terrel quickly walked forward and poured the jar of blood over the back of Hutch’s head and across his face. He chuckled to himself. “Pretty convincing.” He wanted just the right picture, so he stood back and snapped several fast shots of Hutch lying on the edge of the cliff. He looked dead. The sequence of pictures should fool the Bay City Police Department.

Terrel ordered his goons to pick up the injured and unconscious blond and take him back to the shed, which was set back from the cliffs in a small stand of eucalyptus and palm trees. “Tráiganlo.” (“Bring him”).

The breeze on his face revived Hutch slightly and he moaned. Terrel stopped the men dragging him and he picked Hutch’s head up by the hair. Looking into the barely focusing eyes he sneered. “Now that your partner is dead, pig, the only thing remaining is to convince your captain that you are dead, too. These pictures should do the job. You’re mine now. He released Hutch’s head and they dragged him into the shed, dumping him onto the floor in the small, windowless shack. Sick and hurting, Hutch lay there and quietly cried angry tears. He was overcome with grief from the belief that these men had killed Starsky. The pain and sadness closed in on him and he slid into blackness.

~*~*~*~

Captain Dobey was sitting next to Starsky’s bed when he started to come around after the surgery. The doctors had nearly lost him a few times during the lengthy operation. His right wrist was more badly damaged than the left, a small mercy for which Dobey was thankful. Orthopedic and vascular surgeons had spent hours making delicate repairs to the damaged tendons and nerves. For some reason, the cut on Starsky’s left wrist had been made much higher on his arm, saving the median nerve and requiring only twenty-five stitches to close. The median nerve and tendons of his right wrist were severed or torn requiring meticulous reconstruction and over fifty stitches. They wouldn’t know if he would regain full feeling in the right hand for some time.

Starsky’s eyes fluttered open and struggled to focus. He was confused and he started to reach out with his left hand as he looked around the room and called out for his partner. The movement caused him severe pain and his face went instantly white.

“Dave, be still. Don’t try to move.” Dobey attempted to calm him. Starsky breathed heavily from the pain and Captain Dobey pushed the call button to ask for some medication for his detective. “Dave, open your eyes. I need to talk to you. Just don’t move.”

Starsky nodded and slowly opened his eyes. “Hutch?” He said it as a question, wondering where his partner was.

Dobey tried to change the subject, “Do you know where you are, Dave?”

“Hutch?”

“You’re in the hospital. You gave us quite a scare.”

The fog was lifting from Starsky’s mind and he started to worry about why Dobey wasn’t responding to his request for Hutch. “Cap, where’s Hutch?”

“I’ll answer your question in a minute, but first I need you to tell me what you can remember.”

“Dammit, Cap, why isn’t he here?”

“Starsky! I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. They’re gonna bring you something for the pain and I want you to tell me what you remember first. Do you remember what happened?”

Starsky struggled to remember. “Hutch’s gun was gone. I came back to help him. A man was there. He had Hutch.”

Dobey did his best to make sense of the disjointed statement. “Who was there?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t see his face. That’s all I remember.”

“Well, what did you see?”

“Dark clothes, tall, black hair, straight I think. Sorry, Cap, that’s it.” Starsky was out of breath from the exertion. He looked at his bandaged left wrist and saw that the right one was in a thick cast. He jerked his head toward his arm and said, “What?”

Dobey put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder and said, “Dave, they knocked you out and then slit your wrists. You’re just lucky a neighbor found you before you bled to death.”

“Neighbor?”

“Marjorie Taylor. You owe that girl your life.”

Starsky wanted desperately to understand all that had happened and he wanted to know what was going on with Hutch. “How did she find me and where’s Hutch?”

The captain didn’t want to upset the dark-haired man into disturbing his stitches and he knew he wouldn’t take the news well. Dobey sat for a moment too long, unsure of how to tell Starsky his partner was badly wounded and missing.

Starsky was beginning to panic. Why won’t he answer me? Oh, God!

“Cap!” Starsky demanded, fear showing in his eyes.

Dobey wanted to reassure him. “I’m going to tell you, but the doc says you have to be still. You have over seventy-five stitches between both of your wrists and you also have a mild concussion. I want you to listen carefully and remain calm.”

Starsky’s weak voice still managed to sound frantic. “Cap, is Hutch dead?”

“No, Dave, at least we think he’s still alive. The neighbor found you because she heard a gunshot coming from Hutch’s place. She watched someone carry Hutch off in a van and then she ran up to the apartment and took care of you. He’s missing, Dave.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Starsky started to try and get out of bed, “I have to help find him. Dammit, Cap! Was he shot?”

Captain Dobey had both of his large hands on Starsky’s shoulders trying to push him down again. “Yes, he was shot. Calm down now, stop it!”

Starsky was furious. “Let me go. I have to go!”

The nurse came in behind them and saw the struggle. “Keep him still, he’ll pull out his stitches.” She dashed out of the room, returning in a minute with a doctor and a sedative. Dobey tried to talk to Starsky and calm him. He physically pinned him to the bed, hoping he wasn’t hurting him, while the doctor pushed a strong sedative into the IV line.

As soon as Starsky’s struggle ceased, the angry doctor turned on Dobey. “He needs to remain calm and if you’re going to upset him, you can’t stay.”

“I’m sorry, Doc. I had to ask him some questions if I hope to save his partner’s life. I had no choice.”

“Do you have your answers now?” the man bit out with thinly disguised hostility.

“Yes. He knows his partner is in trouble. If you want him calm, you’re gonna have to keep him under or tie him down and I don’t want you to do that.”

The doctor nodded his understanding and softened toward the captain. He had already heard what happened to Starsky and his missing partner. “All right. I’m going to order that he be kept sedated for the next 24 — ’48 hours to give his wounds a chance to start healing.”

“Can I stay with him?”

Reluctantly, the doctor agreed. Starsky would be in a drug-induced sleep anyway. Maybe having someone familiar near him would help. “Just don’t do anything else to make me have you escorted out of here.”

Dobey wasn’t used to being talked to like that and it took him by surprise. He was impressed with the doctor’s intense desire to keep Starsky safe and calm. “I won’t, Doc. The hard part’s over now. I just hope we find his partner alive. I don’t want to think about what it will do to Starsky if we don’t.”

~*~*~*~

“¿Que levas a hacer?” (“What do you want to do with him?”)

“Lo llevaramos a la casa del sur mañana.” (“We’re taking him to the house in the south tomorrow.”)

“¿Y si se muere antes?” (“And what if he dies before tomorrow?”)

“No se morirá.” (“He won’t die.”)

Hutch lay with his eyes closed and listened to this exchange, his heart pounding with dread. One voice was definitely Terrel’s, but he didn’t recognize the other one. He wondered where “the house in the south” was and what they planned to do with him when they got there. Obviously, they intended to keep him alive for a while for some purpose he couldn’t fathom, but they didn’t seem to care how much damage they did in the meantime. Probably in the end they were going to kill him.

And no one would know where he was. And — this thought hurt the most — if Starsky really was dead, no one would be moving heaven and earth to find him. Dobey would do his best, but it was Starsky who always seemed to have that psychic connection that led him to his partner no matter how great the odds.

For the first time since he and Starsky had been partners, Hutch was really and truly alone. A hot tear slid out of his eye and down his cheek and he turned away from the voices outside.

A little while later, Terrel came in to check on him. “Hey, Hutchinson, you still with us?” he said with a nasty laugh. He poked at Hutch, who refused to acknowledge him or respond in any way. “We’re goin’ for a little ride tomorrow, pig, and once we get there, you get to be a delivery boy. The border guards know everybody we got now, but they won’t suspect a blond cop of carryin’ dope into the country, now, will they?”

Hutch stubbornly refused to respond. He had no intention of doing anything for Terrel, especially not smuggling dope into the country. No matter what they did to him.

Terrel gave another laugh. “Playin’ possum, huh? Okay, pig, go ahead. But listen to this.” Terrel bent so close his foul breath tickled Hutch’s ear. “Ain’t nobody gonna be lookin’ for ya this time. So, resist me if you want. But your pig buddies are gonna think you’re dead anyway, so if I kill ya, it ain’t gonna matter. And they ain’t gonna know where to start lookin’ for the body.”

Terrel went away again and left Hutch alone. As Hutch turned over on his back, he couldn’t help picturing in his mind what would happen if Terrel sent those photos to Bay City. Starsky would freak out –

Starsky won’t see them. Starsky’s dead….

Hutch woke up some time later to a burning pain in the shoulder that had been shot. It felt like hundreds of hot needles were stabbing him all at the same time and it throbbed and ached so much he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. Sweat poured down his face, yet he shivered in the warm Mexican night.

He hadn’t studied medicine for nothing. He knew the bullet wound was infected. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

~*~*~*~

Starsky came out of the fog slowly. He couldn’t remember, for several minutes, where he was or how he’d gotten there. It was completely dark in the room but there was a dim light coming under the door. He tried to sit up and couldn’t, but the movement caused sharp pain to shoot through both arms.

And then he remembered. Hutch, oh, my God! He tried to reach for the call button for a nurse but even though it was lying next to his right hand, he couldn’t force his hand to obey him and push the button. It just lay there, limp. He couldn’t even feel his fingers. There was a little feeling in his left hand, but he couldn’t reach far enough to get to the call button with that hand.

Okay, if I can’t push the button, I’ll just have to yell, he thought, and raising his voice, he shouted, “Nurse!”

It was only a moment before the door opened and a nurse hurried in. “Sshh!” she said severely. “You’ll wake the whole floor! What’s wrong? Why didn’t you use the call button?”

“I can’t,” he said, nodding at it. “I can’t feel my hand.”

She turned on the light over his bed, almost blinding him, and looked at the bandages. “Can you feel the other one?”

“Yes,” he said, and slowly it dawned on him how badly injured his right hand must be if he couldn’t even feel it. He tried wiggling the fingers on his left, and though it hurt horribly, he could do it. Thank God. If he had to lose one, thank God it wasn’t the left.

The nurse moved the button to his other side. “Is that better?”

He tried, and found that if he really concentrated, he’d be able to push the button. “Yeah. Thanks. Where’s my captain? Big black man. Is he here?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” she began, but sure enough, Dobey had heard and recognized that bellow and came into the room.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Dobey said gruffly, but his eyes were sympathetic.

“Well, I ain’t,” Starsky said. “What’s happening with Hutch? How’s the case goin’? When are you jailers gonna let me out of here so I can go find him? Why aren’t you answering my questions?” That last was directed angrily at Dobey.

“You won’t shut up long enough,” Dobey said mildly, but he gestured at the nurse. “Do you mind, please? I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“I’m not supposed to let him get agitated,” she said and didn’t budge.

“I won’t,” Dobey said.

“I’m already agitated!” Starsky said, raising his voice again. “And I want some answers, Cap, and I want ’em now!”

“Starsky, shut up!” Dobey bellowed back at him. “I’ll answer your questions. When we’re alone.”

Something in Dobey’s voice caught Starsky’s attention and he subsided.

The nurse felt Starsky’s forehead, checked his pulse and peered at his bandaged hands. Finally, she left the room, but not before a stern warning to both men that she didn’t want any more disturbances from this room.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Dobey pulled a chair up next to Starsky’s bed. “Hill and Cavanaugh might have a lead.”

Starsky fastened his eyes on his captain’s face and waited.

“They picked up a print from the knife in Hutch’s bathroom, the one they used to do this to you,” Dobey said. “It belonged to Tod Brooks.”

“So they’ve picked him up?”

Dobey shook his head. “He’s dead. Shot to death in the street in front of Hutch’s place. Marjorie saw it happen, just before the other man took Hutch away in the van.”

“H-how bad was Hutch hurt?”

“She doesn’t know. He was unconscious, or mostly so, when the other man took him away,” Dobey said. “We got a good description of the van from Marjorie, but it was stolen. Hill and Cavanaugh have been going through Brooks’ file trying to find out who he was working with — ”

“Do we know where all the guys are from the drug bust?” Starsky said, his mind working frantically. “Did somebody make bail? How long’s Hutch been missing?”

Dobey didn’t answer right away.

“Captain? How long’ve I been here?” Starsky demanded.

“Two days,” Dobey said.

“Two DAYS????” Starsky struggled to a half-sitting position. “I’ve been layin’ here on my ass while Hutch’s been gone for two DAYS?”

“Listen to me,” Dobey ordered. “You need time to heal. You can’t help him right now. Sean and Jack are working on this night and day. They think Brooks was involved in the drug deal, but they can’t prove it yet. They’re tracing his contacts since he got out of prison the last time and something’s bound to break any minute. But you are staying here. Starsky,” Dobey leaned forward. “The doctor said you could lose the use of your right hand if you don’t let it heal. The nerves are damaged. Hutch would kill us both if I didn’t make you obey orders this time.”

Starsky swallowed hard, letting that information sink in for a moment. “Cap, I can’t just stay here doing nothing. Hutch is hurt. What if….” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Captain Dobey looked at him carefully and sighed. “Starsky, do you think Hutch would want you to take that kind of risk? You know he wouldn’t. Trust Sean and Jack. They know how important it is.”

“How long ’til I can bust outta here, then?”

The captain knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “At least a week, Dave. I’m sorry, but you really gotta listen this time. If you hurt yourself, I’m not gonna be the one to explain it to your partner.”

Imagining what Hutch would say to him somehow didn’t make it easier to be stuck in the hospital, knowing Hutch was out there in trouble. He was hurt, maybe badly. Starsky struggled with the decision, but in the end, he knew he had no choice. If he lost the use of his hand, even the right one, he’d be put out to pasture. That would mean he couldn’t be Hutch’s partner anymore. That was not acceptable.

“All right, Cap. I got some things I want done, though.”

“Starsky, ” Dobey was going to admonish him to sleep now, but that became unnecessary as the nurse returned with a knockout shot for Starsky.

Seeing the nurse and her needle, Starsky forcefully said, “Oh, no, you don’t. No more shots.” He didn’t want to slide back into a drug-induced sleep for another two days.

“This is just some pain medication, you’ll only sleep a few hours. You need your rest.”

“I said no.” The look on Starsky’s face rivaled Hutch’s best icy glare. The nurse was intimidated enough to slow her progress, but she still walked toward his IV line.

“Look, Mr. Starsky, I have my orders. The doctor said….”

Starsky started to reach for her with his left hand, pain flashing across his face. He had to let his hand fall back down, instantly regretting the entire movement. His eyes shut tightly against the pain as he waited to feel the effects of the shot she was about to add to his IV. He was surprised to hear Dobey say, “He said no. Leave him alone.”

When he could open his eyes again, he realized Dobey had stopped her. He wasn’t falling asleep. The pain was severe, but at least he was awake.

“Thanks, Cap. I owe you one.”

Captain Dobey felt slightly guilty, knowing he was the one who had asked for Starsky to be sedated in the first place. That was something he could wait to tell him after they found Hutch. “Dave, you need to rest. Get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I want to see Cavanaugh and Hill tomorrow. Have them bring what they have down here so I can look at it.” Starsky sounded determined.

“They’ve got it covered. Wait a few days.”

“Hutch might not have a few days. I’ll stay here, but not if you don’t let me in on what’s happening. We have to find Hutch. Nothing is more important to me.”

Dobey considered the request. “Promise me you’ll do like the doc says. Promise me and I’ll tell them to come.” He saw the reluctance on Starsky’s face. To ensure his agreement he added, “Promise me for Hutch. I have to look after you for him till we find him. Help me.”

“All right, I promise. As long as you promise to keep me in on the investigation from here and you also gotta promise to spring me the second the doc says I can go.”

“Agreed. Now rest. I’ll come back in the morning with Hill and Cavanaugh.” Content that Starsky would not break a promise he made to Hutch through Dobey by proxy, the captain left the man to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Hutch was delirious. He lay on the floor, unaware of his surroundings, lost in a feverish haze. His mind kept playing scenes of his partner the last time he saw him. First, bursting through the door with his gun drawn, then lying on the bathroom floor with his wrists slashed. Hutch dreamt they dragged him into the bathroom to watch Starsky bleed to death. In his fever-induced dream, he struggled against his captors, finally being allowed to go to his partner, but it was too late. Starsky was dead. He cradled his friend in his arms and cried. “No, Gordo, you can’t be dead!” Terrel stood behind him laughing.

The real Terrel was standing over the unconscious man. Hutchinson was going to interfere with his plans. He was too sick to be a delivery boy and Terrel was beginning to think he might die if they didn’t get that bullet out of his shoulder. He turned and left Hutch lying in his fever, intent on finding a medic to take care of things. The blond cop would not be allowed to simply die. That was too easy.

Thankfully, Hutch was completely unconscious when the man Terrel brought back with him dug the bullet out of his shoulder without the benefit of any anesthetic. He drained the infection and gave Hutch an antibiotic injection.

Terrel asked the medic, “¿Él puede ser trasladado?” (“Can he be moved?”)

“Si quieres que se muera.” (“If you want him to die.”) The man was angry at Hutch’s condition. Terrel had taken him by gunpoint from a small local hospital. Terrel only allowed him to treat the wound and refused to let the man give Hutch anything for the pain.

That answer was not what Terrel wanted to hear. If Hutchinson was useless as a runner, he would move him south at first light. He pointed a gun at the medic and snapped, “Tu vienes. Asegúrate que sobreviva.” (“You’re coming. Make sure he stays alive.”)

Terrel stood aside while his goons picked Hutch up and carried him out to the back of a truck with a camper shell on it. The floor where Hutch had spent the past two days was pooled with his blood. On an evil whim, Terrel bent down and wrote something on the wall using Hutch’s blood as his ink. Then he dropped a broken necklace onto the floor and went out to the truck to begin the journey southeast to Chihuahua. Terrel wanted to put more distance between himself and any possibility the Bay City Police Department would find out where he was holding Hutch. He would mail the pictures on the way out of town. If anyone came this far looking, the three words he just wrote on the wall should convince them Hutch was really dead. The irony that Hutch had given him the words himself as part of his delirium was almost too perfect. Terrel had written, “I tried, Gordo.”

~*~*~*~

The week he had to spend in the hospital passed slowly for Starsky. Though Hill and Cavanaugh brought him every scrap of information they found, he still was not satisfied with the pace of the investigation. Hutch had been missing for nine days and Starsky was beside himself with worry. The one unexpected thing that had kept him sane was Marjorie.

She had been at the hospital every day since he arrived. Marjorie was growing attached to Starsky. Knowing she had held his life in her hands brought them closer. Sick with worry over Hutch, Starsky needed someone to talk to who could lend a sympathetic ear. He had never experienced an injury without Hutch there with him. Captain Dobey and Huggy did their best, but they couldn’t be with him all the time. Marjorie was just the right person. While he convalesced, she sat with him and kept him company. She kept him calm and made sure he didn’t jeopardize the healing process by pushing his hands too far too fast. She came to pick him up from the hospital the day he was released. Hill and Cavanaugh had called in the morning with a hot lead. They suspected Hutch had been taken south of the border to Mexico, but they were not sure where. Marjorie agreed to drive Starsky to the precinct to meet with them.

She got out and came around to the passenger side to open the door for Starsky. His right hand was improving, but there was no way he could open the door with it. She asked, “How’s it feeling?”

“Like it’s been asleep for a week. Feels like a million pinpricks on my fingers. Doc says that’s good, though. I can even wiggle them a little, but I’m not supposed to yet.”

She smiled. “Great, Dave. What time do you want me to pick you up later, or do you want me to wait?”

“No, I’ll be okay. If I can’t get a ride from one of the guys, I’ll call ya, ‘kay?” He was grateful to Marjorie, but he didn’t want her to feel obligated to keep helping him.

“I’ll be home if you need me. Dave, I don’t mind. I’m happy to help you.” She kissed him on the cheek, pleased with the slight blush it elicited. After holding the door to the precinct open for him, she went back to the car. Looking up as she got in, she saw him standing at the glass door watching her and she waved.

Starsky turned away from the door, his head filled with conflicting thoughts. He was becoming attached to Marjorie, but he didn’t have the time to think about where that could lead. He had to concentrate on Hutch, and he didn’t want to be unfair to Marjorie. She had been a welcome someone to lean on as he worried about his best friend. He trudged up the stairs to the squad room. His left hand was still in a lot of pain but doing much better. If he continued to heal at this rate, he would be able to write with it in a few days. He wondered how long it would be until he could hold his gun.

Starsky decided to go into Captain Dobey’s office first just to say hello and let him know he was there. He was hoping Dobey might approve him for desk duty. He awkwardly opened the door with his left hand and stepped inside.

Dobey didn’t look up from his paperwork at first as he hollered, “Don’t any of you people know how to knock!”

“Hi, Cap,” Starsky said quietly.

Dobey’s head snapped up and his expression softened immediately. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going straight home.”

“Meeting with Sean and Jack. They have a new lead and I wanted to get in on it. Cap, what’d’ya say you put me on desk duty? That’d make it easier for me to keep up on the search.”

“No. Not until the doctors release you.” Dobey was firm and Starsky was sure he would not accept any argument.

“Half days?” Starsky cajoled.

“Starsky, you know you shouldn’t even be here.” Starsky was pleased to see that offer was not completely out of the question.

“Please, Cap. I’ll be careful. Wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with Hutch when we find him.”

Captain Dobey looked at him with compassion. He knew Starsky was aware that every day that passed made it less likely they would ever find Hutch alive. He had been missing for nine days.

“Well, if you come in late and work no more than four hours, I’ll okay it. You gotta promise me you’ll behave yourself though. If you don’t, you’re outta here.”

“Thanks, Cap. I will.”

“Why don’t you go find Sean and Jack. Ask them to come in here with their new lead. We’ll all talk about it.” Dobey wanted in on it, too.

Before Starsky had a chance to take a step, they heard someone knock, and Hill stuck his head in the door. “Cap…oh, hi, Starsky. Glad you’re here. I think you’ll both want to take a look at this.”

He walked in, his partner close behind him and placed a box on Dobey’s desk. “Mail room just received this.”

Starsky stepped closer to the desk to read the label. The box was addressed “Captain of Detectives” and it had Mexican stamps and postal cancellations on it. Starsky’s heart skipped a beat as he touched it carefully with the fingers of his left hand. “Open it, Cap. I think it’s about Hutch.”

Dobey didn’t question why he thought that. He had learned over the years to trust the two partners when it came to their intuition about each other. Dobey used a handkerchief and his letter opener to carefully cut away the brown wrapping from the box. When he pried up the box lid and saw what was inside, he asked Cavanaugh to step out and get some gloves so they could handle the contents without damaging any fingerprints they might reveal. While Cavanaugh was gone, he used his handkerchief to pull out Hutch’s badge. Starsky could barely contain himself long enough to wait for Cavanaugh and Dobey had to remind him of his promise to behave himself or be given a ride home. When all of them had on gloves except for Starsky who would have to content himself with letting the other men hold the items up for him to see, Dobey started to pull things out of the box.

He had already extracted the badge. Next, he pulled out Hutch’s wallet, keys, and ring. Then he opened a letter. His sense of dread was enormous as he read it. He looked up at Starsky, who was demanding to know what it said.

“I think you’d better sit down, Dave.”

“No, just tell me what it says, Cap!” Starsky’s eyes were wide with worry.

Dobey shot a glance at the other two detectives, hoping they would understand he wanted them to watch out for Starsky in case he needed to sit down suddenly. Then he nodded and read the short note aloud.

“Stop looking. He’s dead. We tossed his body in the Pacific.

You’ll never find it.”

Though Starsky was looking a little pale, he stated the obvious. “That don’t mean they did it, Cap.”

Captain Dobey’s eyes told him there was more and Starsky was afraid to ask. “Dave, they put pictures in here. I’m sorry.”

“Let me see them.” Starsky had to see them, didn’t want to see them.

“No, I think maybe you’d better let us handle this.” Dobey was horrified by what he had seen in that box and he had only caught a glimpse of the first picture.

“Cap! He’s my partner. You gotta let me see them.” Starsky was starting to tremble with fear, anger, and anticipation. Captain Dobey knew he’d have to give in because the man was right. Hutch was his partner. He nodded solemnly and pulled the pictures out, laying them one by one on the top of his desk for the other three men to see.

The first picture showed Hutch kneeling near the ocean with his side toward the camera and a man pointing a gun at his head. The next picture showed the muzzle flash from the gun. The last one, Starsky stood and stared at for a long minute. Hutch, lying dead on the ground, blood all over his head and face.

Dobey watched him carefully as all the color drained from Starsky’s face. He heard the man quietly say, “Oh, my God, Hutch.” Then he watched as Starsky’s eyes rolled up and he started to collapse. Fortunately, the other two men were ready for that. They prevented him from hitting the floor and gently deposited him in one of the chairs against the wall. Cavanaugh poured a cup of water from the cooler as Hill and Dobey tried to revive Starsky.

Starsky 1 in VP Times I by Julie Henderson

“Dave, come on now, it’s okay. Dave?” Dobey soothed. He was sick to his stomach. What this would do to Starsky was something he feared to contemplate. Hutch was dead and Starsky was bound to feel it was his fault on some level, no matter how ridiculous that was.

Starsky came around slowly. “Cap, oh, God, Cap. He can’t be dead, Cap. He can’t be. I would feel it. I can still feel him, Cap!” He was barely coherent and the other men were concerned.

“No, no, no,” a string of denials came from the distraught man. Starsky thought furiously. This can’t be, this just can’t be happening. The other men were discussing how to get him home and in bed before he got any worse when a realization hit Starsky. He sat up suddenly, ignoring the annoying spinning in the room.

“Bring me that second picture, “he said.

“No, I think you’ve….”Dobey started, but Starsky cut him off before he could finish.

“Cap! Bring them all over here.” Reluctantly, Dobey retrieved the photos and held them out for Starsky to see.

“These are staged, “Starsky said thinly. The other three men looked carefully, wondering if this was just wishful thinking on Starsky’s part. They looked authentic to the other men, but they did have a perfectly sequenced look to them. As if someone set them up to make it appear that Hutch had been executed. Why? What could the kidnappers hope to accomplish by convincing them Hutch was dead?

Starsky perked up a little and exclaimed, “I know where this is. This is a cliff along Punta Banta. That’s near Ensenada in Baja. Hutch took me down there fishing last year on a long weekend. I recognize this place.”

Dobey looked hopeful. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! There’s a landmark there. A sort of an ocean blowhole like a geyser. They call it La Bufadora. I’m positive.” Starsky’s eyes seemed all right and he had hope on his face.

“Hutch ain’t dead, Cap. I can feel it. Cap, we gotta go down there.”

“That’s gonna be complicated. We won’t have any jurisdiction and you know the local authorities might be difficult.” Dobey knew Starsky was right, but he had no idea how to make it happen. Hill and Cavanaugh mentioned that they didn’t have any contacts who could help them. That’s when Starsky had an idea.

If he could have snapped his fingers, he would have. Starsky said, “I’ve got it. Paco Ortega. Remember he helped us out on that garment district case? He works with INS. Let’s get him on the phone. He must have contacts down there working closely with immigration. Maybe he can help.

Dobey picked up the phone and called Immigration. He asked for Paco, and when he came on the line, he handed the phone to Starsky. Cavanaugh held it for him, since gripping the instrument was difficult for Starsky.

“Paco? Dave Starsky. I need a favor.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch awoke to sunshine and a breeze blowing across his face. He was confused by the open window next to the filthy cot on which he was lying. He didn’t know where he was or how he’d gotten there. He turned his head to look around and met the eyes of a very young Mexican girl who was seated on a wicker chair next to the cot.

“¿Como está?”(“How are you?”)

“No sé,” Hutch answered. “¿Quien eres tu?”(“I don’t know. Who are you?”)

“Me llamo Carmen. ¿Necesita algo de tomar?”(“They call me Carmen. Do you need a drink?”)

“Yes,” Hutch said gratefully, lapsing into English. “Water would be terrific.”

Carmen seemed to understand and brought him a glass of ice water. He drained it in a couple of gulps. “¿Más?”

“Sí,” Hutch said, remembering to use Spanish. She brought another glass and he drank this one more slowly. The water cleared his head and he tried to sit up, but he was still too weak. Carmen stuffed some pillows behind his back and helped him. She couldn’t have been more that 13 or 14, but she seemed to be an experienced nurse. She felt his forehead, peered under the bandage on his shoulder, and ran a cool cloth over his face. After making sure he was comfortable, she sat down again.

“¿Dónde estoy?” (“Where am I?”)

“México.”

“I know — ‘I mean, ¿sí, pero en que parte de en México?”(“Yes, but where in Mexico?”)

Carmen looked over her shoulder and stood to peer out the window of the little room. Finally, she came back, bent over Hutch as if to adjust his pillows and said in a whisper, “Chihuahua. No puedo decir más, señor, lo siento.” (“I can’t say any more, sir, I’m sorry.”) In a louder tone, she said, “¿Como se llama usted?”

“Hutch,” he said.

She smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. “Hutch,” she repeated carefully. “Es un nombre extraño, señor.”(“That’s an odd name, sir.”)

He smiled, too, the first time he’d felt like smiling in a very long time. “Mi compadre me dice así.”(“My buddy calls me that.”) Then he sobered instantly. No. Starsky used to call him that.

“¿Hay un problema, Hutch?” she asked, concerned. (“Is something wrong?”)

He turned his head away from her to regain his composure. “Mi compadre…esta muerto.” (“My buddy…he’s dead.”)

“Oh,” she said in a stricken tone. “Lo siento mucho.”(“I’m so sorry.”)

He turned back to look at her and was surprised to see real tears in her eyes. Somehow, he’d already gotten used to ill treatment and this girl’s honest sympathy unnerved him a bit. Tears formed in his eyes, too. “Grácias.”

“Tu compadre,” she said. “¿Era un amigo querido?”(“Your friend…was he a dear friend?”)

Hutch nodded. “El mejor.”(“The best.”)

She laid her hand over his and squeezed. Hers was trembling a bit. “Lo siento mucho.”(“I’m so sorry.”) Then, very softly, she recited the Hail Mary and Hutch, though he wasn’t Catholic, was deeply touched. She crossed herself, and he did, too, then she patted his hand again. “Tienes hambre?”(“Are you hungry?”)

“Sí. Tengo mucha hambre.”(“Yes. Very hungry.”)

She smiled again and left the room. In a few minutes she came back with a tray containing soup and some toast. She fed him without spilling a drop and afterward, he felt his eyes start to get heavy.

“Duerma,” she said. “Yo estaré aquí.” (“You sleep. I’ll be right here.”)

~*~*~*~

“I’ll do the talking, “Paco said to Starsky as they approached the offices of the Baja police.

“Go right ahead,” Starsky said. “I don’t trust my Spanish enough to order a burrito.”

Paco grinned and opened the door. He approached the desk and spoke rapidly to the man sitting there. Starsky didn’t catch a word of it. The man answered, also rapidly, waving his hands around a great deal, and Paco turned to Starsky. “They know there’s been some kind of activity going on around Ensanada,” he said. “They haven’t been able to catch anyone, though.”

“Will they cooperate?” Starsky asked. “Can we go look around down there or not?”

Paco turned back to the man and talked again for several moments. “Yes,” he said to Starsky. “They’ll send one of their guys with us and we can search the area by La Bufadora. If we find anything, we’ll have the guy with us who’s got the authority to deal with it. Okay, amigo?”

“Okay.”

It was a hot day, and both Starsky and Paco were sweating before they’d gone very far in the un-air-conditioned Mexican police car. When they arrived at Ensanada, they began asking everyone they saw if anyone had seen a blond American man in the vicinity. One after another, everyone said no, they hadn’t. After several hours of this, Starsky was discouraged and half-sick to his stomach from disappointment and the heat. He hadn’t eaten all day.

“Hey, amigo, you sit down here, okay? “Paco said at last, pointing Starsky toward a tree. “I’ll keep asking around. But you look like hell.”

Starsky sat down, reluctantly, but he knew he couldn’t go much further without a break. He leaned his back against the tree and looked out at the water. There was the path leading out to La Bufadora, at almost the precise angle it had been in the photographs. Starsky shook his head. He was so worried about Hutch and what they — ‘whoever “they” were — ‘might be doing to him. If they wanted everyone to think Hutch was dead they probably intended to kill him eventually, when they were done with him.

Starsky laid his head back against the tree trunk and as he did so, his eye fell on a small building half-hidden among the thick trees a few hundred yards away. The door was partially open. He got to his feet and headed for it.

It was dark inside; there were no windows. Starsky pulled the door all the way open so that sunlight fell across the ground and saw a dried stain on the floor. His heart thudding in his chest, he went over and knelt to examine it.

It was blood.

Starsky sank down on his rear end and simply stared at the stain for several minutes. He couldn’t have explained how he knew, but that was Hutch’s blood. And there was so much of it….

Maybe he really was dead.

No! I’d know if he was dead. Somehow, I’d know….

The wind stirred the trees outside and a shaft of sunlight glanced off something shiny in the corner. Starsky shook off his depression and crawled over to see what it was. He painfully pulled a handkerchief out of his hip pocket and used it to pick up the object.

The chain was broken and the pendant was scratched, but he recognized it. The shiny object was the medallion he’d given Hutch for his last birthday some months before. Hands shaking, he turned it over and read the inscription on the back: “Me and Thee.”

Hot tears burned his eyes, but he blinked them back stubbornly. It didn’t mean Hutch was dead. The chain was delicate; any rough treatment and it could break. Or it was possible Hutch had left it behind on purpose, to give Starsky a clue that he’d been here –

But how would Hutch guess Starsky would track him here?

Easy. We always find each other. I only hope this time I’m not too late.

“Starsky!” Paco’s voice came from outside.

“In here!” Starsky yelled, turning as he did so, and as he turned, his eyes fell on another bloodstain, this one on the wall. He stood and walked over to it. So much blood. Too much.

And then he realized the bloodstain was more than a stain. It was words, written in a shaky scrawl on the rough wood of the building’s wall.

“I tried, Gordo.”

Starsky sank to his knees and no amount of willpower could stop the tears this time. That’s how Paco found him, still clutching the broken pendant.

Paco stood in the doorway a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. His gaze took in the small room in an instant. He saw the large amount of dried blood and Starsky kneeling on the floor, tears flowing down his face. Paco rushed to him. “Starsky?”

Putting a hand on Starsky’s shoulder, Paco tried to get his attention, “Starsky? Dave? Hey, amigo, diga me, man. Talk to me.”

Starsky was clutching something shiny as well as his injured hand could grasp it. Paco gently extricated it from his fingers. Starsky tried to hold on to it, but Paco reassured him, “Let me see it, amigo. I’ll give it back. Come on, let me have it.”

Paco turned the medallion over and read the inscription. He looked up at Starsky and they locked eyes. The pain in Starsky’s eyes was clear.

“This don’t mean he’s dead, Dave.” Paco didn’t really believe that. He thought the amount of blood in the room meant the chance the victim was still alive was slim. If the person who bled in this room was Hutch, God help Starsky.

“What if he’s really dead, Paco?” Starsky finally spoke. His eyes looked up at a spot on the wall and then they closed tightly, more tears flowing from under his closed lids.

Paco didn’t know about Hutch’s nickname for Starsky, but he could see the impact of those three words on his companion. He hated to do it, but he needed Starsky to come outside with him.

“Dave, I need you to come outside with me.”

“What?” Starsky looked at him like he had no idea what he just said.

“Outside, amigo. There’s a man we need to talk to out there. Let me help you.” Paco put a hand underneath Starsky’s elbow and helped him to stand. He put his other hand on Starsky’s back and carefully led the shaking man outside the gruesome room.

A short man with leathered skin was waiting for them outside. Paco introduced him as Miguel, a local fisherman. “Miguel says he knows something about a blond American.”

Starsky perked up. “Did you see him?”

Paco translated; the man spoke no English. “Lo vio?”

“Si.” (“Yes.”)

“Cuando? Donde?” (“When? Where?”)

“Hace dos noches, en mi barco.” (“Two nights ago on my boat.”)

Starsky was only catching some of the words. “Paco, please. What did he say?”

Paco put a hand up to signal Miguelto wait. “He says he saw him two nights ago on his boat.”

Starsky’s heart was aching. The note in the box said they had dumped Hutch’s body in the ocean. His mouth was dry and he was starting to feel dizzy. “Paco, ask him if he was alone. Ask him what he saw.”

Paco translated Starsky’s questions. Miguel looked at Starskywith fear in his eyes.

“Tres hombres. Ellos amenazaron a mi esposa. Ellos me obligaron a hacerlo.”

“He says there were three men. They threatened his wife and made him do something.”

“¿Que le hicieron hacer ellos?” Paco asked him (“What did they make you do?”)

Starsky stood between the two men, watching and listening as he fidgeted. He tried to follow the threads of the conversation, but Paco and Miguel were speaking too rapidly.

“Ellos tenian al hombre rubio. Los saque al oceano. Ellos lo lanzaron al agua. Lo siento, lo siento. El hombre…estaba muerto.” Paco looked at Starsky with concern. He could tell Starsky understood at least one word — ‘muerto, dead.

Starsky was breathing rapidly and turning pale. “Paco, did he say Hutch was dead?”

Paco put a hand on Starsky’s arm. “He said three men brought a blond man on his boat. They took him out to sea. I’m sorry, Starsky. Miguel says Hutch was dead. They threw him overboard.”

Starsky’s knees gave out and Paco caught him, gently lowering him to the ground. His head was down and shaking slowly back and forth as he mumbled, “No, please, Hutch, no.”

Miguel held out his hand to Paco, and said, “Ellos dejaron caer esto.” (“They dropped this.”). When he opened his hand, Paco was saddened to see a beautiful gold pocket watch. He had seen it before when he worked with the blond detective in the past. Hutch’s watch. “Esto pertenece a su amigo. Demelo, por favor.” (“That belongs to his friend. Please give it to me.”) He held out his hand and Miguel dropped the watch into it. Paco put it in his jacket pocket. He nodded to the waiting policeman who escorted Miguel away.

Starsky sat on the ground, quietly crying. He looked at his bandaged wrists, wondering why he survived it if he wasn’t meant to find Hutch. As much as he wanted to believe Hutch was alive, he had to accept that he wasn’t. Hutch was gone.

Paco knelt beside him. “Come on, man. Time to go home.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Hutch.” Starsky didn’t budge. His body shook and after a few minutes he turned to his side and retched.

Paco waited for him to recover somewhat. Then he helped Starsky to his feet and led him back to the patrol car. They could do nothing else for Hutch and they had no authority to conduct an investigation. Paco would get that in motion before they left Mexico. His primary worry was getting the barely responsive man beside him home. This would be the longest ride of Paco’s life — ‘one hundred miles to the border at San Ysidro and then another one hundred twenty-mile drive home.

Paco pulled off Interstate-5 in Chula Vista. He knew of a pay phone where he could park the car and keep an eye on Starsky while he placed the most painful call he had ever made. Before another hour passed, he needed to tell Captain Dobey what they had found.

“Dobey here.” The man always sounded a little gruff when he answered the telephone.

“Captain Dobey, it’s Paco Ortega.” He could not keep the sadness out of his voice and Dobey could hear the strain.

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. Hutchinson is dead.”

The captain felt his chest tighten. The shock of the news was also colored by his fears for Starsky.

“The note was true, Captain. They dumped his body at sea. We’ll never recover it.”

“How’s Starsky?” Dobey needed to hear, but he already knew the answer.

“Man, I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve never seen anybody like this.”

“Don’t let him out of your sight, Paco. I want you to bring him to my house when you get up here. I’ll tell Edith you’re coming.” Captain Dobey gave him the address and directions. After he hung up, he decided to wait until he got all of the details before calling Hutch’s parents. He didn’t want to keep the men and women of Metro waiting any longer to find out, though.

Walking out to the squad room, Dobey spotted Hill. He waved him over and said, “Get everyone who’s in the house in here. I’ve got something to tell them.” Based on the grim look the captain wore, Hill thought he knew what the captain had to say.

The squad room was filled within ten minutes. The doors were opened onto the hall and more Metro staff stood out there. Captain Dobey finally decided it was time.

“I have the worst news for all of you today. I’m sorry to tell you that Ken Hutchinson is dead.” A collective gasp came from the spectators. Dobey let the news sink in for a minute before he continued. “I don’t have a lot of details yet, but it happened in Mexico somewhere near Ensenda.”

Office Minnie Kaplan was crying softly. She took a step forward and asked, “What about Starsky? Is he all right?”

Dobey replied, “Paco Ortega is bringing him back from Mexico. He’s taking it about like we would expect.”

Cavanaugh asked, “What about the body?”

“We don’t have a body. The bastards dumped him in the ocean. Paco says we’ll never be able to recover it.”

“Poor Starsky,” Minnie sobbed. “He can’t even bring his buddy home.”

The squad room was buzzing, everyone shocked that they would never see Hutch again.

“All right, we’re all upset by this, but there’s work to do. I want everyone who’s worked on Hutch’s case to put an updated report on my desk before the end of this shift. We’ve got to keep moving so we can nail whoever got to him. Now get back to work.” Dobey waved his arm at them and then he turned and shut himself in his office. He leaned heavily against the door and steeled himself for the phone call he needed to place to his wife. Edith Dobey was attached to his two best detectives. She was going to take it hard.

 

Part II of IV

Hutch began to notice a quiet voice reciting something. He crawled up toward wakefulness, the sound of the voice tugging him forward. His feverish mind struggled to translate and he realized he was hearing the sound of the Hail Mary for the second time.

The night air was warm, but he was shivering, his fever higher than when he fell asleep. He felt something cool and damp on his face. Carmen was wiping his face with a cool cloth and softly reciting the prayer.

“Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo, bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros los pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.”

He cautiously opened his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper. “Thank you, Carmen. Gracias.”

She put a finger on his lips to quiet him while she finished her prayers. “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Amén.”

“De nada, Señor Hutch. “She smiled at him, still amused by his name.

He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he had to ask. “¿Por qué me ayudan? Ellos van a matar me?” (“Why are you helping me? They’re gonna kill me.”)

“No sé.” (“I don’t know.”) “La Madre Santa quiere que nosotros nos precupemos para de los enfermos.” (“The Holy Mother wants us to take care of the sick.”)

Hutch quieted down and listened to the sound of his own raspy breathing. He knew he was sick and thought it might be pneumonia. His shoulder was still on fire, but it felt a little different. Hutch had vague memories of someone digging the bullet out of his shoulder. He shuddered at the thought, thankful that he had been so out of it. Then he turned his thoughts to his grief, shedding quiet tears. Starsky was dead. He had lost his best friend. Several times he tried to push the child away from him.

“Déjeme morir.” (“Let me die.”)

She did her best to cheer up the sick man, but she made little progress. Carmen discovered if she could get him talking, he didn’t fight her. Somehow, she got him to settle down and tell her who he was. Hutch told her was an American, that he was a police officer, and he had been kidnapped from Bay City, California. He hoped she might get word to the United States somehow after he was dead.

In another part of the house, a phone rang. Terrel picked it up, “Bueno.”

“Señor Terrel, es Miguel Santos.” Miguel was the fisherman Terrel had paid to tell anyone asking that he had taken Hutch’s body out to sea under duress.

Miguel was a little breathless. “Señor Terrel. El policia que usted dijo que mató. Starsky. Él está vivo. Lo vi hoy. ” (“Mr. Terrel. The cop you told me you killed. Starsky. He’s alive. I saw him today.”)

“Que?” (“What?”)

“Pensé que usted quería saber.” (“I thought you’d want to know.”)

“¿Él le creyó?” (“Did he buy it?”)

“Si. Él ha sido destruído.”(“Yes. It destroyed him.”)

“Gracias.” Terrel hung up the phone, seething with anger. How could Starsky possibly have survived? He saw the blood. He couldn’t risk that Starsky might figure out Hutch was alive. At least for now Starsky believed his partner was dead. Suddenly, Terrel had an idea of how to finish off the dark-haired detective without drawing any attention until it was too late.

~*~*~*~

Paco shot another sidelong look at the silent man in the passenger seat. Starsky had hardly spoken since they’d talked to the fisherman at Ensenada and all Paco’s attempts to get him to say something — ‘anything — ‘had been fruitless. Every now and then Paco thought he saw a tear roll down Starsky’s cheek, but when he’d look again, Starsky would be staring out the window, dry-eyed, but with more anguish in his face than he could remember ever seeing on someone before.

“Starsky? Hey, man, we’ll be home in about an hour. You want something to eat yet?”

Starsky shook his head.

“Come on, amigo, you haven’t eaten for almost 24 hours.”

“Not hungry.”

Paco sighed. He knew how close Starsky and Hutch had been, but this was more than grief at the loss of a friend. This was also guilt that Starsky hadn’t gotten there in time. He was blaming himself. Never mind that there hadn’t been anything more he could have done.

An hour later, Paco pulled up outside Dobey’s house. Starsky frowned, first at the house, then at Paco. “What are we doin’ here?”

“Dobey’s orders,” Paco said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m on loan to your department, compadre. I gotta answer to that man.”

Paco stayed a little behind as they approached the door. Edith was waiting. She wordlessly put her arms around Starsky and held him tight for several moments, tears in her eyes. He returned the hug listlessly.

“Come inside, David,” she said, pulling a little away at last. “Supper’s ready. You, too, Paco.”

Paco opened his mouth to refuse, but Edith gave him a stern look and he didn’t. He followed them inside. Dobey, his tie loose and his suit jacket off, was going over some papers at the dining room table. When he saw Starsky, he rose. “I’m sorry, Dave.”

“Yeah,” Starsky said bleakly. “Me, too.”

“I called his parents,” Dobey said. “They’ll be here late tomorrow.”

“What for?”

Dobey looked miserable. “To pack up his things and make the arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” Starsky demanded, with the first spark he’d shown in hours.

“The memorial service,” Dobey said.

Starsky stared at his captain with something akin to hatred in his eyes for several tense moments. Finally, he rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. I guess we have to do something, don’t we? God.”

Dobey put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

~*~*~*~

Carmen hummed softly to herself as she bathed Hutch’s face with cool water again. His fever was high, too high, and she was more frightened than she wanted to let on. Señor Terrel had been gone for hours and had ordered her not to leave until he came back, and she didn’t want to leave with Hutch in this condition, anyway. He needed to be in a hospital, but Señor wouldn’t hear of it.

Hutch moved restlessly and moaned a name under his breath. He opened his eyes, fever-bright, and fixed them on her face. “Starsky?” he said, groping with his good hand. “Starsk, buddy? Is that you?”

Carmen didn’t understand, but she wanted to comfort him. She knew English was his own language, and while she only knew a few words, she tried to speak to him in that language. “Sí. Yes, Hutch. Sshh. It’s okay. Aquí estoy. I am here. Duerma, querido. (“Sleep, dear.”) It’s okay.”

Hutch’s eyes drifted shut again and he mumbled, “You’re not dead….”

Carmen stroked his damp hair away from his face, re-wet the cloth, and bathed his face one more time. She clasped his hot hand in both of her own and closed her eyes to pray. She thought Starsky must be the American’s friend who had died, and if it comforted him in his pain to think his friend was taking care of him instead of a frightened girl, she did not want to tell him otherwise. She would ask the Holy Mother to intercede for him and comfort his heart.

Terrel finally returned around daybreak and walked into the room without knocking, scaring Carmen, who had been dozing. She still held Hutch’s hand.

“Que tierno!” he sneered. “Quieres al perro?” (“How sweet! Are you in love with the dog?”)

Carmen dropped her eyes and shook her head. “No. Trato de ayudarle. El señor necesita un doctor. Yo no puedo sustituirlo.” (“I’m trying to help him. The man needs a doctor. I’m a poor substitute.”)

Terrel made an ugly sound in his throat. “No doctor! Si muere, se nos quita un problema de encima.” (“No doctor! If he dies, that’s one less problem.”) He came closer and peered at Hutch’s flushed and sweaty face. Carmen shrank away from being near him. “Haga lo que pueda,” Terrel said, turning away. (“Do the best you can.”) He left, slamming the door behind him.

Carmen resumed her seat next to Hutch and took his hand again. The sweat encouraged her. His fever must be breaking. She bathed his face again, and about an hour later, he opened his eyes.

“Starsky?” he said weakly, his eyes unfocused.

“No. Carmen.”

Hutch turned his head toward her voice, wincing as the pain in his head intensified. “Carmen?” It took him a moment to remember who she was and where he was, but when he did, a different kind of pain crossed his face. “You should’ve let me die,” he said, too weak and dispirited to grope for the Spanish.

Carmen didn’t understand the words, but she did understand the emotion. She stroked his hair gently. “Mi mamá es enfermera,” she said. “Permiteme pedirle que te ayude.” (“My mother is a nurse. Let me ask her to help you.”)

“Terrel….” Hutch said hoarsely.

“El señor sale de casa por muchas horas todos los días,” she said in a low voice. “No se enterará.” (“The man leaves the house for hours every day. He won’t know.”)

“¿Por qué estás aquí?” Hutch asked. “¿Por qué tienes interés en mi?” (“Why are you here? Why do you care what happens to me?”)

Carmen kept stroking his hair with a practiced, gentle touch. She was silent for several moments before answering. Finally, she said, “El señor me paga por cuidarlo. Y mi familia necesita el dinero. Pero, no puedo abandonarlo en esta condición.” (“The man pays me to take care of you. And my family needs the money. But I can’t abandon you in this condition.”)

“Eres una muchacha muy buena,” Hutch said softly. (“You’re a good girl.”)

She smiled.

~*~*~*~

Starsky sat in his car outside Venice Place waiting for the Hutchinson’s to arrive. Huggy had given him a ride, and he found the Torino still parked where he left it that horrible day. He couldn’t bear to go into the apartment yet. Huggy left him there, knowing he’d want a few minutes by himself before everyone else got there. Dobey had offered to pick Hutch’s parents up at the hotel and bring them over. He knew Starsky had a key and could open up the apartment. Dobey said he and Huggy would come back and help Starsky get the car back to his place when they were done at Hutch’s.

Starsky gazed up at the windows. Hutch didn’t have much stuff to go through and dispose of. He wasn’t a “keeper.” He liked his apartment bare and Spartan, with only the necessities and a few plants and books to make it “homey.” Starsky thought about how Hutch hadn’t replaced his old black and white portable TV when it shot craps a couple of months ago. His stereo only keeps working because he keeps tinkering with it.

Dammit. Why can’t I stop thinking of him in the present tense? Starsky asked himself, swallowing the thickness in his throat. He kept expecting the door to open and for Hutch to come through it, complaining that Starsky was late, or balancing toast and orange juice which he would spill all over the car seat. He simply couldn’t take it in that Hutch wasn’t there and would never be there again.

Dobey’s car pulled up behind the Torino, and Starsky got out, pulling on a mask of non-emotion. He wouldn’t break down. He’d be strong. Hutch would want that.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hutchinson,” Starsky said. He kissed Hutch’s mom on the cheek and offered his hand to Hutch’s dad without thinking. Seeing the brace, Richard declined to shake hands, but he patted Starsky on the shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze instead. The gesture was achingly like something Hutch would do.

Hutch’s dad, blond like his son and looking very much like Hutch would in 20 years — ‘would have, Starsky mentally corrected himself with a twinge — ‘tried to smile. “How many times do we have to ask you to call us ‘Dick’ and ‘Helen,’ David?” he asked.

Starsky gave a wan grin in return. He didn’t know the Hutchinson’s very well, and his mother had always instilled respect for one’s elders in him, but if they wanted him to call them by their first names, he’d try. After the next few days were over, it was unlikely he’d ever see them again, anyway. “Sorry.” He glanced at Helen Hutchinson. Her eyes were red from crying, but she had a stubborn, resolute set to her jaw that Starsky had often seen on her son. She was going to maintain her composure if it killed her.

He led the way up the stairs into Hutch’s place, and already it felt abandoned. Some of the plants had died in the two weeks since Hutch had vanished, and even though Marjorie had cleaned up the blood in the bathroom and living room, Starsky imagined he could still see it.

Helen halted inside the door and looked around, her eyes bleak. “I hate this,” she said, almost too softly to be heard. “When my father died, Ken packed up his things. He said he wanted to ‘spare’ me.”

Dick put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. To Starsky, he said, “There must be something of Ken’s you’d like to have. Please don’t hesitate to say so.”

Starsky shook his head. He had Hutch’s watch — ‘the one that had belonged to his grandfather — ‘and the pendant he’d given Hutch for his birthday. The Hutchinson’s knew he had those things. There wasn’t anything else in the apartment that he wanted. He had the most important thing, anyway: his memories. Those would never rust or wear out. “No, thanks,” he said.

Helen finally moved away from the door and wandered through the apartment, touching things here and there, occasionally wiping away a tear. She finally sat down on the sofa and looked up at Starsky. “Would you speak at the — ‘the service, David? You knew Ken better than anyone.”

Starsky was stricken. In one way, he wanted to. He hated funerals where the minister didn’t know the deceased yet tried to sound as if he did. It always made it worse. Yet he knew he wouldn’t be able to say the right things to really let people know who Hutch was and why he’d been important. His throat closed up at the very thought.

“Please, David,” Dick put in. “I know it won’t be easy, but it would mean so much to us.”

He couldn’t say “no.” So he nodded. “Sure.” Starsky had agreed, but he was completely unsure as to how he would get through it.

For Starsky, the worst part of the time they spent in Hutch’s apartment was when they came across his best friend’s guitar. The Hutchinson’s wanted to give it to him. He just shook his head as tears came to his eyes. He couldn’t possibly accept it. The instrument was so much a part of who his best friend was he could not bear it. Starsky managed to mumble an apology before he walked out the front door and down the steps. He sat about half way down and tried to calm his thoughts.

“I’m going to see if he’s all right, ” Helen said.

“No. Let him be. He needs to be alone for a while.”

The Hutchinson’s got through the apartment that day. Hutch’s paintings and music went off to Minnesota to his sister. She was eight months pregnant and her health had been poor. Her parents had insisted she remain at home close to her doctor or she would have been there with them to help dispose of Hutch’s things.

They packed his photographs in a box to give to Starsky when he was ready for them. Dick Hutchinson decided to ask the Dobey’s to keep them until that time. Anything incidental was donated to a thrift shop that benefited Big Brothers of America. At Starsky’s insistence, the guitar would go to Kiko, Hutch’s little brother. They did manage to talk Starsky into keeping his partner’s black and white varsity jacket.

Starsky got through that day like a zombie. He went where he was asked to go and spoke when he was spoken to most of the time. Getting his mind off the memorial service was difficult. While the Hutchinson’s went through the apartment, Starsky looked through Hutch’s books for something appropriate to read at the service. He found just the right thing and asked them if he could keep the book. They were happy he had asked for something.

Over the next two days they made all the arrangements they needed to make. Marjorie was spending as much time with Starsky as she could, wishing his spirit would heal along with his hands. The left was doing well and his right hand was regaining more feeling. The doctor had advised him to begin some exercises with it. He still couldn’t grip with it and it caused him a lot of pain, but at least it was looking like he would keep the use of it. Marjorie encouraged him but he displayed little interest, almost seeming to think it wasn’t important anymore.

~*~*~*~*

The day before the funeral, the Hutchinson’s called Starsky and told him they needed to see him about something important. When they arrived at his apartment, Marjorie was there. Helen followed her into the kitchen to help her make some tea.

“How is David doing?” she asked. “When he’s with us he seems so despondent.”

Marjorie looked sad. “I wish I could say he is getting better, but I can’t. They say time heals all wounds, but I’m not so sure. They were so close. He just seems completely lost without your son. He told me yesterday that Hutch was his compass. Now he doesn’t know where to go or how to get there.”

Mr. Hutchinson sat on the couch with Starsky, unsure of how to tell him what he needed to say, and unsure of how he would react to it. He and his wife had not been terribly surprised by it, but Starsky certainly would be.

“David, I’m afraid I don’t know how to say what I need to say to you. Please hear me out, okay?”

Starsky was worried about what it could be. Then he thought to himself that Hutch was dead, what could be worse than that? “Mr. Hutch…um, Dick. I’ve already been given the worst news I could be given. Please, whatever it is, just tell me.”

“All right, David. Were you aware that Ken went to see his attorney the afternoon he disappeared?”

“What? Attorney?” Starsky thought back to that awful day. He did remember it, though, and he remembered thinking Hutch would explain it over dinner that night. “Yeah, I remember. He didn’t tell me why. I figured he’d tell me when we went for dinner that night. We were supposed to go to Huggy’s.” Starsky looked away from Hutch’s father as he thought about that afternoon.

Starsky 2 in VP Times I by Julie Henderson

“I know why he went. I am not sure if you are aware that Ken had a lot of personal wealth. He had a sizable trust fund and several bank accounts with large balances. David, Ken had papers drawn up to put your name on his accounts and his trust fund. When the findings from the coroner’s inquest are made final, officially declaring him dead, that money will go to you.”

Starsky was stunned. He sat with his mouth dropped open a little, not knowing what to say. The only thing he was able to say was, “Why?”

“Because he loved you, David. The attorney says that Ken told him you were his best friend and he wanted to be sure you were taken care of if anything happened to him. Apparently, this has been in the works for some time. He had just finished putting your name on the accounts that day and had gone to sign some paperwork. Since you have been placed on his accounts, you won’t even have to pay any taxes on the funds. He also wanted to be sure you had access to all of his money in case you needed to take care of things for him if he were injured again or became ill.”

Starsky was crying again. “Oh, Hutch.” He closed his eyes and softly said, “I don’t want the money.” Somehow, knowing this did make it worse for him. Did Hutch have some premonition that he was going to die soon? If so, why didn’t he say something?

“Can’t I challenge it somehow? I don’t want it. I won’t fight you if you want me to sign it over to you.”

Mr. Hutchinson stared at him apprehensively. “David, we don’t want to fight you on this. No, you can’t change it. Nothing says you have to use the money, but it’s what Kenneth wanted, and I think you should honor his wishes. His mother and I want you to do that.”

“Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry, I just can’t deal with this now. Someday I will. Maybe I’ll give it to a charity or something. Not now. I don’t know if I can handle anything else, now.” Starsky shook his head in dismay. He looked like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. One more thing and he was going over that edge. Mr. Hutchinson decided not to push it.

“All right. The attorney’s name is C. Jarod Crawford.” He pulled an envelope out of his inner jacket pocket and placed it on the couch next to Starsky. “All of the information you need is in this envelope. Don’t make any rash decisions, David. I can help you when you are ready.”

Starsky nodded and explained that he needed to finish preparing for the eulogy. He excused himself and went into his bedroom, shutting the door and leaving the Hutchinson’s with Marjorie and their tea.

“How did he take it, dear?” Helen asked.

“Not too well. I’m not sure he ever knew that Ken had money. We just have to give him time to accept this. He’ll be all right.” He patted his wife on the hand and drank his tea. Marjorie made polite conversation with them until they left.

~*~*~*~*

The next morning, the Dobey’s and Huggy Bear picked Starsky and Marjorie up for the service. Starsky wanted to hold a small service on the beach, but he was overruled. The death of a police officer was often the subject of media attention and this case was no exception. Hutch’s death was a spectacular news story. A police officer kidnapped, dragged south of the border, and killed was bound to attract attention. The media had latched on to the story and every local outlet would be represented at the funeral. Captain Dobey had located a large Lutheran church in the city that would accommodate both the media, at a discreet distance, and the throng of people expected to attend. Every off-duty police officer in the area was planning to be there.

Captain Dobey ordered the media to be cordoned off from the people attending the service. In particular, he wanted to assure that not a single reporter would get to Starsky. The man would be having enough difficulty getting through the service without the added burden of being hounded by the press and local television stations.

Starsky always looked uncomfortable in his dress blues. On this day, he looked numb. Flanked by Captain Dobey on one side and Huggy on the other, he wearily walked into the church and was seated on the front row, waiting for his time to deliver the eulogy he had prepared. After a few hymns were sung and the minister had spoken, the church became still as Starsky walked up to the pulpit.

He stood in front of the microphone for a few moments, looking out at the crowd of friends, family, and fellow officers.

Starsky took a deep breath to compose himself and then began. “The other day I went to Hutch’s apartment to help his parents go through his things. One of the things we came across was a book by his favorite poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson. I chose a poem to read from that book called “The Path by Which We Twain Did Go.” I think it says a lot about Hutch and me.” He opened the book and read the poem aloud.

“The path by which we twain did go,
Which led by tracts that pleased us well,
Thro’ four sweet years arose and fell,
From flower to flower, from snow to snow:
And we with singing cheer’d the way,
And, crown’d with all the season lent,
From April on to April went,
And glad at heart from May to May:
But where the path we walk’d began
To slant the fifth autumnal slope,
As we descended following Hope,
There sat the Shadow fear’d of man;
Who broke our fair companionship,
And spread his mantle dark and cold,
And wrapt thee formless in the fold,
And dull’d the murmur on thy lip,
And bore thee where I could not see
Nor follow, tho’ I walk in haste,
And think, that somewhere in the waste
The Shadow sits and waits for me”

 

He closed the book and looked out at the faces looking at him. “A lot of people have called me since Hutch died. They try to be kind and say the same things. ‘I know it hurts now, but you’ll be okay,’ or ‘Give it time, Dave.’ Some of them have told me that Hutch wouldn’t want me to be sad. That he’d want me to go on with my life and find happiness. Some of them have even said that I’d get used to it and eventually it won’t hurt so much. I really would like to thank everyone for thinkin’ of me and Hutch and for tryin’ so hard to make me feel better. I wish I could. Everyone who said that Hutch wouldn’t want me to be sad is right. He wouldn’t. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face.”

The silence in the church was interrupted by the sounds of people crying. He looked over at the Dobey’s, watching as Edith wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. The only way he was going to get through the eulogy, and maybe the only way he would get through the rest of his life, was by detaching himself from their reactions, closing in on himself, allowing only his own grief to register in his heart.

“How do I get used to him being gone? Who’s gonna spill boysenberry jelly on my car seats? Who’s gonna make sure I take care of myself when I’m hurt or sick? Who’s gonna watch my back on the job? Can I even do this job without him? Hutch was more than just my partner, he was my best friend — ‘closer to me than my own brother. What takes the place of that? What could ever possibly fill the emptiness in my heart?”

By this time, everyone in the church was in tears, all of them moved by Starsky’s pain and loss. Captain Dobey was both surprised and impressed with Starsky’s quiet dignity while delivering this most painful speech of his life. He only hoped it was a good decision to allow him to do it and he was worried about the wall of grief Starsky had erected between himself and the rest of the world. Possibly, others might not see how he had just turned in on himself, but Dobey saw. Huggy Bear saw it, too, and he was just as worried for his friend. Both men had given thought in the past to what might happen to the one left behind if either Starsky or Hutch died. Seeing Starsky so devastated was more painful than thinking about it in the abstract — ‘more painful by orders of magnitude.

Starsky continued, “Most of all I wonder how I’m ever supposed to get used to missing half of my soul?” He looked up at the sky, as if beseeching his friend to hear him from heaven. “Hutch, if you’re listening, I wish I could do like you’d want, buddy. I wish I could try to be happy someday. You know I’d do anything for you. I can’t do that, though. I just can’t and I’m sorry. I love you, Hutch.”

He gave one last look at the crowd staring back at him. Then he stepped down from the pulpit and walked back to his seat. As he got closer, Captain Dobey stood and embraced him. He could tell that Starsky was running on empty, so he helped him sit down again. Huggy put his arm around Starsky’s shoulders and whispered, “That was beautiful, bro. Blondie would be proud.” Starsky didn’t acknowledge him, though. He sat silently, staring ahead and letting the tears flow down his cheeks without even an attempt to wipe them away. Huggy leaned back behind him and shot a worried look at Captain Dobey. They both knew they had a long road ahead to help their friend heal, if it was possible.

Hutch’s mother cried throughout the service. When the time came for them to leave, she began to sob. One of the officers at Metro played the bagpipes. He was standing in the doorway to the church playing Amazing Grace as the Hutchinson’s, the Dobey’s, Starsky, Huggy, and Marjorie walked up the center aisle of the church. The keening sound of the bagpipes was more than Helen Hutchinson could bear. She collapsed in a faint, caught by her husband before she hit the floor.

After they revived Helen, they all got back in their cars to return to Starsky’s apartment. Some friends and coworkers had been invited to stop by to pay their respects in a smaller setting. Many more people showed up than they had expected. Even Captain Dobey didn’t know who they all were. Starsky shut himself in his room while they were there, refusing to see anyone. Several of the guests brought food with them, hoping to leave something Starsky might eat later. He never understood what it was about a funeral that brought out the need in some people to attempt to feed the bereaved. Marjorie put everything away for him and thanked everyone for coming when they left. Each of them gave her soft words of encouragement to pass along to the Starsky.

No one was surprised that Starsky was making himself scarce. After his eulogy, none of them knew what to say to him, anyway. Without resorting to the usual platitudes offered to the grieving at such times, what could any of them say in the face of his sorrow?

~*~*~*~

As soon as Terrel left the next morning, Carmen ran home and fetched her mother and brought her to Terrel’s compound to see to Hutch. He hadn’t been able to talk her out of it. The bullet wound had been cleaned ineffectually and the resulting infection had caused it to fester. Without antibiotics, Hutch knew he was in trouble. And he doubted a Mexican peasant woman could get any of those.

But when Carmen came back with her mother, Hutch was startled. She wasn’t dressed like a peasant woman and she was carrying a doctor’s bag.

“Hutch,” Carmen said, smiling, “esta es mi mamá, Señora Ana Diáz de Gutierrez.”

Hutch struggled to sit up and extended his hand. “Mucho gusto.”

“How are you feeling, señor?” Ana asked, taking his hand and examining his face very closely. She felt his forehead and opened his shirt — ‘ragged now — ‘to look at the bullet wound.

“You speak English?”

She smiled again. “Un poco. Enough, I think, to help you, Hutch. Your name, I like it. Carmen dijo que un amigo give it to you.”

“Yes,” Hutch said quietly. “My best friend.”

“Then we use it also, to honor him,” Ana said gently. She opened her bag and produced a stethoscope and a thermometer. She gave him quite a thorough examination, clucking her tongue occasionally. “Not good, this,” she said, removing the bandage. “Chica,” she said to her daughter, “Traiga agua y jabón, por favor.” (“Little girl, bring water and soap, please.”)

Carmen vanished and came back in a few moments with a basin, soap and clean cloths. “This will hurt,” Ana said to Hutch. She told Carmen to hold his hand and she did so. Then Ana gently, quickly and efficiently cleaned the wound while Hutch clenched his teeth and tried not to squeeze Carmen’s hand too tightly. When Ana was finished, she covered it with antibiotic cream and a fresh bandage, then she produced a bottle of pills and shook out two of them for him. “Take these,” she said.

In Bay City, Hutch would never have dreamed of accepting pills from a stranger, but here he didn’t give it a second thought. There was something so comforting and trustworthy about Carmen and her mother that he knew instinctively they would not harm him. Ana gave the bottle to him and told him to conceal it or Terrel would find it and take it from him.

“He is bad,” she said gravely. “Very bad.”

Ana left after giving Hutch instructions on how often to take the pills and when to stop — ‘in Spanish, for fear she wouldn’t have the words in English — ‘and when she left him, she stroked his hair back in a motherly way and kissed his forehead. “Vaya con Dios, querido,” she said softly. (“Go with God, dear.”)

Carmen stayed behind to make his lunch for him and while he was eating it, he suddenly felt Starsky’s presence very strongly. Carmen noticed his face change and asked him if he was in pain.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “Pensé que sentí a mi compadre.” (“I thought I felt my friend.”)

Carmen patted his hand. “Mi mamá dice que cuando eso pasa, tu ser querido está cerca de ti.” (“My mother says when that happens your loved one is near to you.”)

“Es posíble,” Hutch said doubtfully. (“It’s possible.”)

“El padre dice que podremos hablar a nuestros seres queridos cuando estan en el cielo,” Carmen went on. (“The priest says we can talk to our loved ones when they are in heaven.”)

“No estoy católico,” Hutch said. (“I’m not Catholic.”)

Carmen shrugged. “Eso no importa. Cuál es el nombre de tu compadre?” (“That’s not important. What is your friend’s name?”)

“Starsky,” Hutch said.

Carmen smiled, took both of Hutch’s hands, being very careful with his left one so as not to disturb his wound, and closed her eyes. “En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo,” she said softly. “Starsky, tu amigo Hutch te ama mucho y está triste sin ti….” (“Your friend Hutch loves you a lot and he is sad without you….”)

Terrel kicked the door open and both of them jumped. He sneered. “Now you’ve got this dumb kid prayin’ to Starsky for ya?” he said to Hutch. “I may be sick.”

Hutch did not answer, and Carmen watched Terrel with fear in her big brown eyes.

Terrel reached into his pocket and pulled out some money. He handed it to Carmen and told her to go home, her employment with him was over. She took the money and rose but stopped to look back at Hutch.

“Vaya,” he said to her. “Y grácias, chica.” (“Go on. And thank you, little girl.”)

“Que Dios te bendiga,” she said, tears in her eyes. (“God bless you.”)

“Y a ti también,” Hutch said. (“And you.”)

As soon as she was gone, Terrel grabbed Hutch by the arm and hauled him to his feet. He was still so weak that his knees buckled and he almost fell. Terrel called for one of his goons and between them they got Hutch outside and into a car.

“Where are we going?” Hutch demanded.

“You’ll find out,” Terrel said. “Now shut up.”

They drove about 20 minutes to a small airfield, and got aboard a light plane. The engine was already running, and as soon as all four were aboard, the pilot started taxiing the plane. In a few moments they were airborne.

Terrel turned in his seat. “You wanted to know where we were going, Hutch?” he asked. “Guatemala’s where we’re going. It’s safer than Mexico and closer to our supply.”

And farther away from home, Hutch thought bleakly.

He lost track of how long they’d been in the air. The exertion of getting to the plane — ‘Terrel and his men hadn’t spared him — ‘had worn him out and he drifted in and out of consciousness as they flew. But a stream of curses in Spanish from the pilot and Terrel’s panicked voice demanding to know what was wrong jerked him awake.

Hutch struggled upright and looked out the window and realized they were descending rapidly, and the engine on his side of the plane wasn’t working.

He shot a glance out the opposite window. That engine was sputtering, barely working. Below them were trees — ‘too many trees — ‘no open space for an emergency landing.

“Do something!” Terrel was demanding, terrified, forgetting to speak in Spanish in his fear.

The pilot shook his head, frantically moving levers and switches, but the plane continued to go down, picking up speed as it went.

Hutch closed his eyes as the trees came closer and closer. He wished for a little of Carmen’s unshakeable faith, but he hadn’t had that since he was her age. At least, I won’t be alone much longer…he thought.

~*~*~*~

Starsky woke up late the morning after Hutch’s memorial service. He hadn’t realized how it had exhausted him. Dobey had insisted he take another week off work and wouldn’t be moved by Starsky’s argument that he needed something to do. So here he was, alone in his apartment, nothing to do, no one to call.

He got out of bed and padded to the kitchen to make coffee. He opened the refrigerator and saw all the food people had brought over the day before. He recognized Huggy’s famous breakfast burritos — ‘invented, Hutch used to tease him, just for him — ‘and pulled out a couple of those to warm up. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he had to eat. He read the paper while he ate and it was nothing but bad news, as usual.

Late in the afternoon, after she got off work, Marjorie came by. Starsky was napping on the couch with an afternoon movie on the TV. He didn’t even know what it was.

She knocked and poked her head in. “For shame,” she said with a teasing smile. “Leaving your door unlocked.”

Starsky roused and rubbed his eyes. “Guess I just forgot about it.”

She came closer and sat down next to him, rubbing her hand up and down his arm. “Have you eaten today?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll bet,” she said. “I’m going to warm up one of those casseroles people left for you and I’m going to stand over you while you eat it, understand?”

“Only if you eat with me,” he said. “Frankly, I’m sick of sitting here by myself.”

“Sure, Dave.” She wandered into the kitchen and looked through the things in the refrigerator. Finally, she chose a dish, turned on the oven and stuck it in. “Be about half an hour,” she called in to Starsky. “Want something to drink?”

“How about a beer?” he said.

She brought him a beer and a glass of water for herself, then sat with him and told him about her day and asked him about his — ‘he didn’t have anything to tell her — ‘while they waited for the casserole to get warm. She dished it up and set the table and he forced himself to sit there with her.

“I wonder who brought this one,” she said, trying to be cheerful. “Odd taste, whoever it was.”

“Why?” he asked, more to keep her talking than out of any real interest.

“Well, look. It’s got almonds in it. Can you imagine? Why would you put almonds in tuna casserole?”

Starsky shrugged.

She gave him a plateful and took one for herself and began eating. “It’s pretty good, actually,” she said. “I’ll have to try making it this way sometime.” She looked up a few minutes later. “You’re not eating, David.”

Starsky had taken a small bite, but he hated tuna casserole and the almond flavor was too overwhelming. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just not hungry and I’m not crazy about almonds, anyway.”

“I can warm up something else,” she offered.

“No,” he held up a hand. “I’m really not hungry. Honest. Please, go ahead without me. I don’t mind.”

“I mind,” she said. She started to say something else but seemed to think better of it. “Is it stuffy in here?” she asked instead.

“Stuffy?” Starsky looked around at the open windows. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Her face had gone a strange gray color and she had a hand at her throat. “I — ‘I’m having trouble breathing,” she said faintly.

Starsky got up and went around to her, concerned. “Put your head down between your knees,” he said. “Is there anything in this you might be allergic to?”

he shook her head and started to obey and put her head down, when she started having convulsions. Starsky tried frantically to help her, but he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t have any but the most rudimentary first aid knowledge and the thought, “Call Hutch” went through his mind by instinct before he remembered he couldn’t call Hutch.

He could call an ambulance, however. As he hurried past the table to the kitchen phone, he bumped the table and knocked his plate off, spilling some of the casserole onto his sleeve. He never noticed, but while he was giving his address and Marjorie’s symptoms to the emergency operator, he raised his sleeve to his face to wipe his sweaty forehead and noticed the strong scent of almonds.

“Oh, my God,” he said, suddenly realizing what must have happened. “Operator, she’s been poisoned. It’s cyanide. Hurry!”

By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late. Starsky could do nothing but watch, stricken, as the attendants lifted Marjorie’s limp body to a stretcher and carried her away. The police officer who had come in response to the call collected the leftover casserole to be analyzed. He paused before he left to speak to Starsky.

“Hey, man, I wanted to say I’m sorry about Hutch.”

“Thanks,” Starsky said automatically, but he didn’t really hear. In a moment, the officer left, shaking his head. And Starsky sank down on his couch, stunned. Marjorie was dead. Poisoned. By poison meant for him. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. And it must mean that whoever had killed Hutch wanted to kill him, too.

~*~*~*~

Hutch moaned and opened his eyes. His head felt as if it would explode, and when he put his hand to his forehead, it came away bloody. It took several moments for his vision to clear, and when it did, he realized he was lying in brush a few yards away from the plane, which was broken into two pieces, a mangled wreck. The leg he’d broken when he’d been trapped under his car for two days a couple of years ago was broken again — ‘he could tell at a glance — ‘and his shoulder wound had reopened and was trickling blood down his arm. Inside the wreckage, he could see the bodies of Terrel, his two goons and the pilot. They all appeared dead, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He slowly dragged himself to the plane and checked. All four were dead and a couple of the bodies were so mangled it was going to take dental records to identify them. He took their guns in case he needed them and tried the plane’s radio to call for help.

~*~*~*~

Starsky walked down the stairs at his apartment late in the evening on the day after Marjorie died. He noticed the black-and-white sitting on the street and walked over to have a word with the officer.

“Evening,” he said cordially but without any cheer.

“Evening, Starsky. Sure sorry about Hutch.”

“Thanks. Dobey send you over here?” He was sure that was the case. His phone had started ringing shortly after everyone left him alone in the apartment. Knowing that it was probably Dobey didn’t make him any more inclined to answer. He had ignored the ringing for the past few hours while he decided what he needed to do.

“Yep. Said we need to keep an eye out in case whoever killed your friend comes back.”

Starsky nodded. “I need to go to the precinct and fill out a report. You can go now.”

Looking determined, the officer replied, “Sorry, I can’t do that. Captain Dobey wants you under protection.”

Starsky had no energy to argue about it. He was going to do what he had to do regardless of what Dobey wanted.

“Fine, then you’d better follow me ’cause I’m going.” Then he turned around and walked toward his car.

Starsky’s wrists were still bandaged and the right one was in a brace. The other officer called to him. “Hey, you supposed to be driving?”

“Watch me,” Starsky replied.

Though he hadn’t been cleared to drive, Starsky believed he had no options. He used his left hand for as much as he could. Shifting required his right and the pain was excruciating, making his progress slow.

Starsky went into the station and had his guard dog help him fill out a report on what had happened. He thanked the man and spent the next two hours clumsily typing out letters to Captain Dobey and Huggy using just two fingers on his left hand. Before leaving the station, he put his gun, his badge, his keys, and both letters on Dobey’s desk. Next, he told the uniform who was supposed to be watching him that he would be right back, he was just going to the cafeteria. Instead, he went down the stairs and left the building. Stopping at the Torino, he pulled out the backpack he had thrown into the car before he left home. Taking a last look around, and pulling his jacket closer around him, he headed off down the street on foot at around one in the morning.

Starsky’s guard dog waited over an hour before he decided he’d better go looking for him. A complete search of the station revealed no sign of the man, but his car was still parked in the garage. The uniform decided maybe Starsky was working on something in an interrogation room or with another officer. He couldn’t figure out any other reason why his car would still be there. Not about to call Captain Dobey at this ungodly hour to report that he had lost track of Sergeant Starsky, the man decided to wait in the squad room instead. After another two hours, and another search, he reported to the desk sergeant that Starsky was nowhere to be found but his car was still at the station. Since his orders had been to guard Starsky at his apartment, the desk sergeant decided to dismiss the younger officer and wait for morning to report to Captain Dobey. The man considered it unlikely that Starsky had been abducted from inside the precinct. Captain Dobey would probably know Starsky’s whereabouts.

Captain Dobey arrived at the station the next morning at around eight and was surprised to see the Torino in the lot. He was glad Starsky was there, wanting to talk to him about Marjorie’s death. One of the other detectives had called him about it. Dobey had tried to call, but Starsky didn’t pick up his phone and Dobey had decided to give him until the next day before he went to the apartment to speak with him in person. He had ordered a black-and-white to sit outside Starsky’s apartment in case anyone else showed up with the idea of hurting him.

Walking into the squad room first, he looked around for the detective. He was nowhere in sight. As soon as he opened his office door, Dobey saw the items left on his desk. His heart beat a little faster.

He took a seat at his desk and stared at the envelopes, steeling himself for what he would read inside. His sense of dread mounting, the captain opened the typewritten letter addressed to him.

Dear Captain Dobey –

This letter is my resignation. I’ve left you my gun and my badge. I also left you the keys to my car and my apartment. There’s enough money in a check for Huggy to pay off my landlady and close out my house accounts. Do whatever you want with my stuff; I won’t need any of it. I’m sorry this is such short notice but that’s just the way it is.

Hutch dying was my fault. I should have known something was wrong sooner. He was my partner and I was supposed to keep him safe. I blew it. Now, the guys who killed him are after me. Marjorie is dead because of me. I can’t do this anymore. I’m not worth it. Being around me is like a death sentence. I know what I have to do. Don’t bother looking for me. I won’t be anywhere. Please forgive me.

Dave Starsky

Captain Dobey read the letter again and again. He could not believe what was happening. Beyond that, the letter was so despondent. He was concerned for Starsky’s state of mind and worried he might even be suicidal. Although he had left his gun, the captain knew Starsky still had his father’s service revolver.

The first phone call he placed was to put an APB out on Starsky. Then he called Huggy and asked him to come down to the precinct to read his letter. He spoke with the desk sergeant and found out when Starsky was last seen at the station. Although he was angry that the young officer had allowed Starsky to give him the slip, he didn’t waste too much time being mad about it. Anger wouldn’t help them find Starsky. He was still making calls when Huggy rushed into his office without knocking. Hanging up the phone, Dobey handed Huggy the letter Starsky had left for him.

Dear Huggy –

I’m sorry things have to be this way. Thanks for everything you’ve done for me and Hutch. You’ve always been a good friend and I know I can count on you to take care of things for me. Use the money in this check to settle everything up for me. You can keep whatever you want and get rid of the rest of the stuff in my place. None of it matters anymore.

I can’t be here anymore. I hope you can forgive me for not saying goodbye. I have to do this, and I can’t let anyone stop me.

Starsk

Huggy looked stricken. “Oh, God.” He passed the letter to Dobey for him to read. Tears were in his eyes when he said, “Captain, that letter sounded so down. You don’t suppose he’d hurt himself, do ya?”

“I hope not, Huggy.” The look on Dobey’s face was not reassuring.

Huggy shook his head and wiped a tear away as it started to trickle down his face. “I can’t believe we’ve lost them both.”

“We haven’t lost Starsky!” Captain Dobey yelled. “We just have to find him!” His voice softened when he saw Huggy’s shocked reaction to his outburst. “I know what you mean, Huggy. Get on out there and do your thing. Find him. I’ve got an APB out on him.”

Huggy nodded. “Something’ll turn. If I have to turn over every street contact I’ve got under every rock out there I will.”

“I already sent Simmons, Babcock, Hill, and Cavanaugh out looking for him in all of his haunts. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch’s mayday from the crashed plane resulted in a search. He was unable to give the controller he spoke with any positional information other than that he had seen a patch of ocean and the jungle before they crashed. The controller tried to keep him talking. Hutch told him he had been kidnapped and that he was an American. Unfortunately, he was not completely lucid. He hadn’t been able to tell them his name or where he was from before he became increasingly incoherent and finally lost consciousness. He was still unconscious when the searchers found the plane two days later, crashed in the Guatemalan jungle between Puerto Quezal and Monterrico.

Hutch had no identification on him. They transported him to a small local hospital where he remained unconscious with a high fever. The level of care was unsophisticated, but they treated his injuries as best they could. They began a search to determine his identity.

The Guatemalan authorities were able to trace the small plane back to Chihuahua over the next several days. Hutch remained delirious from a fever and their search had revealed nothing about a missing person matching his description. Though the authorities worked with the American Consulate who in turn contacted authorities throughout the United States, nothing helpful materialized. No one seemed to be looking for the mysterious blond man.

In Chihuahua, local authorities put out the word that they were looking for information on a small plane that had taken off a week ago. They showed a picture of the blond man in the marketplace and Carmen’s mother saw it. She went home to pick up her daughter and take her to the local police station to report what they knew.

Mrs. Gutierrez and Carmen were both relieved to hear that Hutch had survived the plane crash and that Terrel was dead. Carmen was able to tell them that the blond man’s name was Hutch and that he was a policeman from Bay City, California. Carmen and her mother also did their best to describe what had happened to him while he was Terrel’s prisoner. One week after the plane crash, the Mexican authorities were on the phone to the Bay City Police Department.

Captain Dobey was getting ready to go home for the day when his phone rang. He almost didn’t answer it. On the off chance it could be Starsky, he changed his mind.

“Captain Dobey.”

“Captain, this is Melinda at the switchboard. I have a man on the phone who says he’s calling from a police station in Mexico and that he needs to speak with the man in charge of Hutch.” Melinda sounded apprehensive.

“It’s all right, Melinda. Put him through.”

The man on the other end of the line had a thick Mexican accent. “Captain Dobey? My name is Roberto Martinez. I am a police captain in Chihuahua, Mexico.”

Dobey was intrigued, wondering if this call could be information about the drug smugglers that Starsky and Hutch were trying to nail. “What can I do for you, Captain Martinez?”

“I have information for you. Are you missing an officer who is called Hutch?”

The captain sat back down at his desk, his heart beating a little faster. “That would be Ken Hutchinson. He’s not missing, though, he’s dead.”

“I think he’s not, Captain. We know where he is.”

Now Dobey was getting a little angry, suspecting that some of the men responsible for Hutch’s death might be trying to pull something. “If this is some kind of sick joke, I’m not laughing. Ken Hutchinson was a fine officer and his death was hard on us.”

Roberto Martinez quickly said, “No, no. Por favor, this is no joke. Your man is not dead. He is hurt, but he is alive.”

Dobey could not believe what he was hearing — ‘Hutch alive? “Where is he?”

Martinez explained the situation with the details he had. They made arrangements to move Hutch to Bay City by air ambulance the next day.

The next thing Dobey did was to call Huggy Bear.

“Huggy, this is Captain Dobey.”

“What can I do you for?” Huggy asked.

“I need some information on Starsky.”

“Captain, you know I don’t know where Curly is. I wish I did.” Huggy had prayed Starsky would contact him, but he hadn’t and it had been days since he disappeared.

“Look, Huggy, I know you and Starsky go back a long way. I also know he might have asked you to keep it quiet if he called and you know where he is.”

“If I knew where he was, I’d be there.” Huggy sounded definite. Dobey could not detect any attempt at deception in his voice, only concern for their missing friend. “What’s happenin’?”

“Maybe you’d better be sitting down for this one, Huggy. I need you to keep this quiet until we see what we’re up against, but I have news about Hutch. Huggy, he’s alive.”

“WHAT!!”

“I just got off the phone with a police captain in Mexico. Hutch was in a plane crash and is in a hospital in Guatemala.”

“Oh, my God. We’ve gotta find Starsky.” Huggy was suddenly hopeful for Starsky. They could only help him if they could find him, though.

“Do what you can, Huggy. They’re gonna bring Hutch to Memorial tomorrow afternoon around four. You want to meet me there?” He knew that was a foolish question.

“You kiddin’? I’ll be there with bells on, Captain.” For the first time in weeks, Huggy was starting to feel a little better.

“Save the bells, just be there. Call me if you find anything on Starsky.”

Dobey hung up the phone. He decided to tell Edith in person and not to tell anyone else at Metro or to call the Hutchinson’s until he saw Hutch and knew everything was going to be all right with him. His joy at hearing Hutch was alive was tainted by his worry for Starsky. As he pulled away from the station he looked up at the flag, still flying at half-staff. He smiled for the first time in weeks and thought to himself that the first thing he was going to do after seeing Hutch was to call and tell them to put the flag back where it belonged.

~*~*~*~*

Dobey and Huggy were both waiting in the ambulance bay when they pulled in with Hutch. They barely recognized him from the brief look they got as he was pushed past them. Hutch was markedly thinner, and he had a beard. He had an IV line in and was on oxygen. His left leg was in a cast, his head was swathed in gauze, and he was unconscious. Several hours later, the doctor was sitting with them describing Hutch’s condition.

“First, let me tell you that he will be all right with a little time. Still, your friend is in bad shape. He has a broken leg and he’s recovering from a head injury, but that is not why he is unconscious. Mr. Hutchinson was shot in the shoulder and the wound was poorly tended. I suspect it was infected for some time before the plane crash. Also, I understand he was in the jungle for a couple of days before he was rescued. That was long enough for him to contract something called Dengue Fever. The high fever is keeping him out, but he did wake up a little for us, briefly. That will improve as we get the fever under control.”

The two men looked at each other. Captain Dobey said, “What is that?”

“The Guatemalan doctor sent a report on it with Mr. Hutchinson. The fever is transmitted by mosquitoes, like malaria is. We really can’t do a lot for it, but it isn’t life threatening. Only about five percent of Dengue Fever victims die from it. He will need another week in the hospital to get past it, though. We’re treating the fever and watching for signs of any complications.”

“Can we see him?” Huggy asked.

“Sure. I’ll bet he could use a friend now. He’s being taken up to the ICU. Just don’t stay too long. The fever isn’t contagious unless we have mosquitoes in the ICU.” The doctor smiled and shook their hands. “Try not to worry. He just needs some time. In all, he’s a lucky man.”

As he was walking down the corridor, the doctor turned back and said, “Hey, does he have a friend named Starsky by any chance? He keeps asking for him.”

Dobey looked at Huggy and said, “Yeah. Don’t worry, Doc. We’ll handle it.”

Hutch’s eyes were closed when they walked into his room. Huggy reacted visibly to the pallor of the blond’s face and the sight of the bandages and cast. Dobey put a hand on Huggy’s back briefly before moving over to the bed. Neither of them had made any noise, but Hutch’s eyes opened, and he focused on Dobey.

“Cap’n,” he whispered hoarsely. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Dobey smiled reassuringly and patted his arm. “Not half as good as it is to see you, son. Huggy’s here, too.”

“Hug?” Hutch’s eyes traveled past Dobey, but Huggy had hung back and was out of his range of vision. At Hutch speaking his name, he came closer and stood on the other side of the bed.

“Blondie, you is a sight for sore eyes,” Huggy said, laying the jive on thick to hide his emotion. “Didn’t know you could even grow a beard, m’man.”

Hutch gave a lopsided grin. “Didn’t mean to,” he said. “Does it…” he paused for a moment; even a little talking tired him out. “…make me look like a hippie?”

Huggy chuckled. “No, and I would recommend disposin’ of it as soon as possible. It just ain’t ‘you,’ if ya know what I mean.”

Hutch held his eyes for a moment more, then looked back toward his captain. “Did I miss the service?”

“The service?” Dobey glanced fearfully at Huggy.

“For — ‘for Starsky. The funeral.”

“For STARSKY?” Huggy blurted. “Starsky ain’t dead.”

Hutch’s eyes rolled back to Huggy, and in them was a slowly dawning hope. “What’d you say?”

“You could break it a little more gently,” Dobey said.

Huggy looked ashamed, but not very. “I said, Starsk ain’t dead, Hutch. We thought YOU was, though.”

“You thought I was dead?” Hutch closed his eyes again and a tear rolled out and down his cheek. “And I thought he was. Oh, God.” He drew another long breath and tried to reach for Dobey. “You gotta tell him. Right away. Tell him I’m okay.”

Huggy opened his mouth, but a look from Dobey made him close it again.

“We will,” Dobey said. “Just as soon as we can get a hold of him.”

Hutch nodded once, winced at the movement, and in a few moments was out again. Dobey motioned to Huggy and got him outside the room.

“Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. “He can’t handle knowing Starsky’s vanished. We are not going to tell him until he’s stronger. You got that?”

Huggy gazed at him thoughtfully. “That’d be just fine, ‘cept ain’t he gonna wonder why Starsky don’t come and see him? You know you can’t pry them away from each other when one of ’em’s hurt.”

“I’ll think of something,” Dobey said. “Just don’t tell him yet. We may even find Starsky before we have to worry about it.”

~*~*~*~

It was almost unbearably hot alongside Interstate 10 outside Phoenix. Starsky had caught a ride with a businessman who’d taken him that far before turning off to go to Tucson.

“Wish I were going farther,” the man had said with a friendly smile.

“Thanks,” Starsky said. “I appreciate the ride.”

But Starsky wanted to go east, not south, so he’d gotten out at a rest area and had been walking since then. So far it had been three hours, and no one showed any inclination to give him another ride. The soda he’d bought from a vending machine at the rest area was long gone, and he hadn’t passed any small towns yet. He intended to put California and Bay City far behind him, even if he had to walk every step of the way.

Not that he had a destination in mind. Just somewhere that wasn’t Bay City.

Sweat trickled down his back and the knapsack, small as it was, was beginning to get pretty heavy by the time a trucker pulled over. “Need a ride, son?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said gratefully, climbing in.

“Where you goin’?”

“East,” Starsky said.

“Okay,” the trucker said, seeming to understand he didn’t want to say more. “My name’s Scott. I’m goin’ to El Paso.”

“El Paso would be just fine,” Starsky said.

“Got a name?”

“David.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Scott said, offering a handshake. Starsky’s right hand and forearm were still in a brace. Unable to shake hands, he just waved it at him so Scott would get the idea. The man nodded and then he put the truck in gear and pulled back out onto the highway.

Scott chattered amiably about everything and nothing as the miles rolled under the wheels. He didn’t seem to notice or care whether Starsky answered or even if he was listening. And Starsky, lost in his own thoughts, didn’t listen to most of it. The chatter on the CB and Scott’s talking washed over him without making any impression.

“Gettin’ hungry, partner?” Scott asked some hours later.

Starsky was startled out of his reverie, not by Scott’s speaking to him, which he’d been doing for hours, but by the “partner.” He choked back the angry answer that rose to his lips. Only one person in the world had had the right to call him “partner.”

Instead, he took a deep breath. “No. But if you want to stop and get something, go ahead.”

Scott shrugged and pulled into the next truck stop, about three miles down the road. Starsky got out, too, and stretched his legs.

“Meet ya back here in an hour,” Scott said, strolling toward the restaurant. Starsky acknowledged him with a half-hearted wave and went in search of a bathroom. He yawned and glanced at his watch. By now Dobey and Huggy had read his notes and Dobey’d probably put out an APB on him. But they’d begin looking in Bay City and from there would spread their net throughout California. No one would think to look in Arizona or Texas. But on the off chance they might put out a nationwide missing persons report, Starsky thought, he’d better come up with an alias and a story to go with it. That way if anyone asked at places like truck stops and rest areas, he wouldn’t fit the description.

He glanced into the mirror as he washed his hands. He already had a good stubble going because it had been a couple of days since he shaved. He’d just let his beard grow; that would help disguise him. All the years he’d spent doing undercover assignments ought to come in handy now. Scott had a marked Texas twang. He’d listen more closely to the trucker’s talking the rest of the way to El Paso, and when they parted ways, he’d adopt that accent, too.

And he needed a different name, but what? He knew he didn’t dare tell anyone his name was “Starsky.” That was too unusual anywhere but in New York. He’d already told the trucker “David,” and if he was going to remember to answer to it, maybe he’d better keep that part. David…David what?

Hutch used to tease him mercilessly about his comic book collection. He knew he was a little too old for comics, but he’d loved them so much as a kid and he’d kept all of them. Some were worth some money now. Maybe there was a name from one of them he could use.

And then he had it. David Banner. The Incredible Hulk’s alter ego. A nice, normal, American-sounding, bland name. No one would notice it or remember it. He’d avoid giving a last name whenever he could, but if he couldn’t, he’d tell people his name was David Banner.

He went into the lounge where truckers could nap and take showers and sat down on one of the cots. The room happened to be empty at the moment. He opened his knapsack to make sure he hadn’t lost anything in his mad dash to get out of California.

He’d stopped by his bank and cleaned out his savings and checking accounts, so he had enough money to live on for a while. He’d brought Hutch’s watch and his dad’s service revolver. Some clothes — ‘not many, because places like this always had laundry facilities. A few treasured photos — ‘of him and Hutch, of him and Terry, his mom and dad’s wedding picture. The Tennyson book with Hutch’s memorial poem in it. That was about all. And Hutch’s jacket. He didn’t fully understand why he’d done it, but he’d worn Hutch’s letterman’s jacket rather than one of his own. It was a little too big and the sleeves were too long, but they helped hide the scars on his wrists and the jacket seemed to bring Hutch a little nearer to him.

He replaced the things in his bag and laid his head back against the wall.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew he was never going back to where he’d been.

~*~*~*~

When Hutch awoke the next morning, it took him awhile to realize where he was. A doctor was standing by the bed, making notations on his chart and Hutch, forgetting he was back in Bay City, said, “¿Como se llama, señor?”

The doctor turned and smiled at him. “You’re awake. Good. How do you feel?”

Hutch blinked, confused, but memory slowly came back. He also remembered talking to Dobey and Huggy the night before. “A little fuzzy,” he said. “But better.”

“Good.”

“Where’s my partner?” he asked next. He also remembered that Starsky wasn’t dead — ‘thank God! — ‘and he knew nothing would keep his partner from being by his side. He must be outside waiting for the doctor to finish whatever it was he was doing.

“Your partner?”

“Curly hair. Blue eyes. Ratty jeans.”

The doctor shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. There’s a Captain Dobey here. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”

Dobey came in a few minutes later, carrying the inevitable bouquet of flowers he always took to people in hospitals and wearing a smile. “How are you this morning, Hutch?”

“Fine,” Hutch said. “Where’s Starsky?”

Dobey paused, only for a moment, but that was long enough to send chills down Hutch’s spine. “He’s not here,” he said.

“Did you tell him I’m not dead? Is he okay? Where is he?”

Dobey had lain awake most of the previous night concocting the story he was about to tell Hutch to hold him off for a few days. He hoped he could pull this off. He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid he’d be overheard, and lowered his voice. “He’s on assignment,” he said quietly. “Deep under. I can’t contact him for fear of blowing his cover. But he checks in when it’s safe, and when he does, I’ll tell him then.”

“He’s under?” Hutch hissed. “Alone? Are you nuts?”

“He insisted,” Dobey said. “Besides, it wouldn’t have worked otherwise. Don’t worry.”

Hutch shut his eyes. Don’t worry. Sure. He wouldn’t worry. His partner was deep under without him and couldn’t even check in regularly, and Dobey told him not to worry. “How often does he check in?”

“There’s no regular schedule,” Dobey said. “Just when he can.”

“When was the last time?” Hutch demanded.

“Couple of days ago. Right before we got the call about you.”

“Dammit!” Hutch closed his eyes again. “What’s the case?”

“That drug cartel. Some of ’em slipped the noose.”

“Obviously,” Hutch said.

“You know Starsky,” Dobey said. “He wouldn’t rest until we went after the rest of them.”

“I know,” Hutch growled, “and I also know how dangerous they are! How could you let him go under in a situation like that?”

“We didn’t have any choice,” Dobey said, more or less truthfully.

Hutch closed his eyes and thought about Starsky. He knew how he had felt when he thought Starsky was dead. Having his partner out there undercover and believing Hutch was dead was unthinkable. “You know, Cap, he might not be thinking too clearly right now. Thinking I’m dead might make him take…” Hutch paused and took a deep breath to steady his voice, “unnecessary chances.”

Captain Dobey knew what Hutch meant. He was right, but he didn’t want Hutch to know how right. “I know it’s impossible for you to not worry. You’re right, he’s hurting. He’s gonna be okay, though.” The captain prayed to God he was right about that. Hutch nodded, telling him he had more time. Dobey decided to change the subject.

“Can you tell me what happened to you after you were taken?”

Hutch’s eyes opened. He looked feverish and tired. “Yeah, but first you tell me what happened with Starsky.”

“You’ve been gone for weeks, Hutch.”

“I know that, Cap. Please, tell me.” He sank down a little more into the pillows, breathing a little too hard. Dobey squirmed inside wondering how much to reveal.

“Maybe you should get some rest now. I’ll fill you in later.”

As tired as he was, Hutch successfully issued his best “spill it” look to his captain.

Dobey carefully explained what happened in Hutch’s apartment. Every time he left something out to spare Hutch, the man sensed it and grilled him even more. The captain had never been on the receiving end of one of Hutch’s interrogations. He was beginning to feel a little sorry for the criminals, especially when he thought about how much more effective Hutch was with Starsky to play off of while questioning a suspect.

Hutch suddenly realized that his parents thought he was dead, too. “Oh, God, Cap. What about my parents?” Hutch felt guilty that he hadn’t even thought about them or his sister until now.

“They’ve been called. Unfortunately, they aren’t home. Your mother was very upset at the funeral. Apparently, your dad took her off to Europe somewhere. The housekeeper said even she couldn’t reach them. I’m sure they’ll call home soon.”

“What about my sister? Did she have her baby?” Hutch asked.

Dobey had no answer to that since he didn’t know how to find Hutch’s sister. The conversation went back and forth like that, Hutch grilling, and Dobey answering or tap dancing as the situation required. Hutch was growing increasingly tired and there were sometimes long pauses between his questions as he drifted off to sleep frequently. Dobey was thankful that Hutch was completely out before he asked too many questions about Starsky at the memorial service and before he had to tell Hutch the woman who had saved his partner’s life was killed by poison meant for Starsky.

~*~*~*~

Passing through Arizona and New Mexico with the talkative trucker was uneventful. The man occasionally stopped for food that Starsky never seemed to want, but he did manage to get some water and sodas into his mostly quiet passenger. Once when Starsky was sleeping, he shifted his position, exposing his left wrist. Scott saw the long, red scar on his wrist and he stole another glance at the brace on Starsky’s other arm. He realized in an instant that his passenger had recently attempted suicide. Whatever he was running from, the man hoped Starsky would be all right.

As they were pulling into the outskirts of El Paso, Starsky started to wake up again, flexing the fingers of his right hand stiffly. He noticed the way his left arm was laying on his lap and that it gave his host a clear view of his scar. Starsky moved it and looked over at Scott.

“Where are we?” he asked, hoping the man hadn’t noticed. He really didn’t care what anyone thought — ‘he was past that. Starsky just didn’t want anyone to ask too many questions or to provide any means by which he might be recognized.

“Just getting into El Paso. You all right?”

Starsky sighed. Scott had seen the scars. “Yeah.” He wasn’t going to offer any information.

“I’m going to a distribution center here. Thought I’d drop you off over near the bus station. That okay by you?” Starsky was grateful the man was going to respect his privacy.

“Terrific. Thanks.”

Scott was silent the rest of the way to the bus station. He pulled up a block away and stopped. “End of the road, David. You sure you want to get out here? I’ll be heading back in the morning.”

“Thanks, but this is fine.” Starsky climbed down from the cab and waved Scott off as he pulled down the street.

The bus station in El Paso was in about as good a neighborhood as the bus station in any city. Trudging down the street, Starsky was lost in thoughts of where he should go next. He decided he had better call his mom, but he wouldn’t tell her where he was. If the drug cartel was still after him, she could be in danger, too. Starsky was determined that no one would ever be hurt again because of him.

He walked into the El Paso Greyhound Station and scanned the lobby for a pay phone. Looking at his watch, he realized that it was three in the morning in New York. That couldn’t be helped. He reached into his knapsack and pulled out enough change to make the call. He didn’t need much, he was only going to be on long enough to tell her he was all right and to say goodbye.

Starsky dialed his mom’s number and put in the amount of change he was told to deposit. On the third ring, his mother’s sleepy voice answered.

“Hello.”

“Ma, it’s me.”

“Davy?” She suddenly sounded more awake.

“I just wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Where are you, Davy? You’re scaring me. Your Captain called me and asked about you. He said I should call him if you called me.”

Starsky was afraid of that. He knew he couldn’t risk calling her again.

“I’ve gotta go, Ma. I shouldn’t have called. I won’t call again. I love you.”

“Davy, please wait….”

“I’m sorry, Ma.” Starsky hung up the phone and stood with his head down on the receiver for a few minutes, fighting back tears. When he had recovered from the conversation, Starsky found the ticket counter and purchased a one-way ticket from El Paso to Lubbock. Then he went to the men’s room to clean up a little. He didn’t know why he had chosen Lubbock. He was just putting more distance between him and the pain of the life he had lost in California.

Despite the lateness of the hour, Rachel Starsky retrieved Captain Dobey’s telephone number and called him.

“Dobey.” He sounded wide-awake. She had no way of knowing the man hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep each night since her son mysteriously left Bay City.

“Captain Dobey, this is Rachel Starsky. I’m sorry to call you so late, I know it’s after midnight there.” She was apologetic since she rarely called anyone after nine in the evening.

“No problem, Mrs. Starsky. Did David call you?” He sounded so hopeful.

“I’m sorry I don’t have much to give you, but yes he just did. I couldn’t get him to tell me where he was.”

“What did he say?”

“I’m frightened for him, Captain. He sounded so depressed. Davy’s never sounded like that. He told me he loved me, that he wouldn’t call again, and that he was sorry. Why is he sorry? Please tell me what’s going on with my son.” Her worry was undeniable and Dobey didn’t want to deceive her. He also didn’t want her to know how worried he was.

“I can’t tell you too much, ma’am. He just left after Hutch’s funeral and we are all worried about him. I was going to call you tomorrow to give you a message for him. Hutch has been found alive. If David calls again, you have to tell him that. Can you do that for me?” Dobey was mentally kicking himself. He should have called her and told her about Hutch before now. If he had, Starsky might be on his way back to Bay City.

“Of course. I’m glad Ken is all right. Please be honest with me, Captain Dobey. How worried should I be about Davy?”

How could he lie in the face of such a direct and heart-rending question? Dobey answered honestly. “Very worried, Mrs. Starsky. I’m sorry to tell you, we are all very worried. You just give him that message if he calls and we’ll let you know as soon as we hear something, okay?”

“Yes, thank you. Goodnight.” She hung up the phone and had a long cry about her oldest son. She knew that if Captain Dobey was so worried her son was in serious trouble. She prayed for him, hoping he would call again. Rachel Starsky knew her son though. He had said he wouldn’t call and now she was afraid that was the last time she’d ever speak with him.

~*~*~*~*

Starsky was leaning into a sink in the men’s room. He looked up at the mirror and saw how haggard he looked. Eating hadn’t been high on his list of priorities and he was looking thin. He splashed a little water on his face with his left hand and then he stood and stared down at the scar. As he had for weeks, Starsky couldn’t help but wonder again why he had been spared. If he had just bled out in Hutch’s apartment, they’d be together. That would have been much easier.

He looked down at the knapsack on the floor, knowing his dad’s gun was in there. Starsky had thought about turning it on himself many times. Once he had even sat down with it in his hand, loaded and ready. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of Hutch’s disappointment. Starsky knew he couldn’t take that. As much as he wanted to die, he couldn’t imagine meeting Hutch in heaven and explaining to him that he had eaten a bullet. In his heart he knew he had given up on life. If he kept on his current course, he wouldn’t have to wait for death much longer and he wouldn’t need the gun to do it.

Lost in his despair, Starsky never heard the two thugs who had followed him into the men’s room. One of them walked quickly up behind Starsky and grabbed him. Even though his instincts kicked in to fight them off, Starsky was no match for the two men. He hadn’t eaten in days and his hands were in no shape for defense. They easily overcame him, shoving him head first into the wall and laughing as he slid unconscious to the tile floor.

They rifled his pockets, pulling out his wallet. Pocketing his identification, cash, and credit cards they tossed the wallet on the floor next to Starsky. One of the men had gotten Starsky’s watch off and was working on his rings while the other started to open the knapsack. They were startled when they heard the bathroom door open and a man’s voice yell at them.

“What are you doing there?”

The two men looked at the intruder like deer in headlights. The man was a priest. By silent assent, they dropped Starsky’s knapsack and barreled out of the men’s room past the stunned man. He quickly crossed to the unconscious man on the floor.

Relieved to find a strong pulse, he realized Starsky was just dazed when he started to moan and stir in response to his touch.

“Young man, wake up. Are you all right?”

Starsky opened his eyes and blinked at the man hovering over him. The priest said, “Stay still. I’m going to call the police and an ambulance.”

Starsky reached up for him gripping him by his wrist. “No. I’m okay. Just help me up.”

“You know you have to be more careful, son. The bus station is a dangerous place.” He helped Starsky to a sitting position. “Looks like they got what was in your wallet and your watch.”

Realization dawning on him, Starsky frantically searched the knapsack. Hutch’s watch and jacket were still there along with most of his cash and his dad’s gun. They hadn’t gotten anything important. “I don’t care. Thanks.”

“I’m Father Paul Dolan. What’s your name?”

“David.”

“Just David?”

“David Banner.” Starsky decided to try out his new alias and it looked like the priest believed him.

“Well, David Banner, why don’t you come with me? I just got back from Dallas and I’m on my way to the church. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep and a nice hot shower.”

“No thanks, Father. I’m supposed to catch the next bus out to Lubbock.”

The priest looked at him closely. He had seen a lot of young people in trouble during his career and the man in front of him looked like he was in trouble. He had noticed the wrist brace and the angry scar on Starsky’s other wrist.

“That’ll keep, David. Please, let me help you. I’m sort of in the lost sheep business and you look a little lost.” Father Dolan smiled at him, hoping it would put him at ease.

Starsky thought about protesting but decided maybe it would be nice to sleep in a real bed for one night. What did he have to lose?

“Okay, thanks.” As they exited the washroom he said, “You know I ain’t a Catholic. I’m Jewish, Father.”

“The bed won’t care.” He walked Starsky out of the bus station and into a taxi for the ride to his church.

~*~*~*~

When Hutch woke up the next time, Captain Dobey was seated in the chair next to his bed. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“Good morning. Feeling any better? Doc says your fever is down a little.”

“A little. Starsky call in yet?” Dobey sighed. Hutch was more persistent than a pit bull. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could fool him.

“Not yet. Maybe today.”

“Cap, I just don’t get it. That’s not like Starsky. What aren’t you telling me?”

Dobey was relieved to hear the door open and see Hill and Cavanaugh walking into the room.

“Hey, Hutch!” Hill said cheerily.

Hutch smiled at them. “Hill, Cavanaugh. What are you guys doing here?”

“Just checking up on our biggest unsolved case to date, man,” Cavanaugh replied.

Hutch looked curious and glanced at Dobey. “Uh, Jack and Sean were assigned to your case. After we thought you were dead, the leads dried up completely.”

“Where was Starsky when that was going down, Cap?” Dobey was worried and scrambling in his head for the right answer. He took a second too long and what happened next made him feel like he was having an out of body experience.

Cavanaugh answered, “Damn, Hutch. He was in the hospital around a week. I never saw so much blood. Any luck with the APB on him yet, Cap?”

If it were possible, Captain Dobey would have turned completely white at the remark. He realized too late that he hadn’t told the other two detectives that Hutch didn’t know the truth about his partner.

Hutch looked at him, his eyes wide and flashing with concern. “What APB?”

The room was suddenly silent.

“Cap? Answer me!” Hutch was angry now.

“Could you two give me a few minutes alone with Hutch?” Dobey asked Hill and Cavanaugh. They were both delighted to comply.

“We’ll come back later, Hutch.” They slunk out of the room as fast as they could. Though they couldn’t make out the words, they could hear that Hutch was yelling all the way down the hall.

“Dammit, Cap. WHAT APB!” Furious. Hutch was definitely furious.

“Calm down and let me explain!” Dobey yelled back at him.

“Explain what! You’ve been lying to me for days. What the HELL is going on with my partner!” Hutch struggled to sit up, but he didn’t have the strength yet. He was already winded by his shouting.

“Hutch, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you. Just shut up and let me explain. You needed some time to get stronger and I didn’t want to tell you everything ’til then.”

“Tell me now and don’t leave out anything.” Hutch’s eyes were smoldering.

Dobey explained everything that had happened. He admitted how badly Starsky had been hurt and told Hutch about the funeral. When he told him about Marjorie, Hutch was stunned.

“He disappeared the day after she died. We’ve been looking ever since.”

“You mean to tell me Starsky has been missing for over a week?” Hutch was incredulous. Dobey remembered having a similar conversation with Starsky when he discovered Hutch was gone and they had kept him sedated. “Didn’t he leave you any clues as to where he might have gone? What about a note?”

“Honestly, I had hoped you wouldn’t ask that. Yes, he left a note.” Dobey had carried both notes from Starsky every day to the hospital, dreading the inevitable time when Hutch would have to see them. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled them out, and put them in Hutch’s hands.

Hutch opened the notes and read them. Dobey noticed the paper shaking from the trembling in Hutch’s hands. When he looked up from the notes, Hutch’s eyes were wet. “My God. He sounds…well, suicidal.”

“I know, Hutch. Huggy is doing everything he can, and I’ve had as many men as I can spare looking into it. I know how bad it sounds, but the good news is he hasn’t turned up in any hospital or morgue in California. He called his mother last night, so we know he was still alive then. Maybe he’s all right.” He knew he wasn’t offering much comfort to Hutch, but it was all he had.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better? Doesn’t. Just because he called his mom doesn’t mean he’s okay. I have to get out of here and start looking for him. Go and call the doc in here, okay?”

“You can’t yet, son. Be practical. You can’t even sit up in bed. Just give it a few days. We’re doing everything we can. As soon as you’re cleared, I’ll give you the time you need.”

Hutch shook his head, fighting back tears. He couldn’t stand the thought that Starsky was out there alone and hurting, thinking he was dead. “He’s in real trouble. You know if his hands were hurt that badly, he can’t even defend himself.”

“I know, but you’re not gonna do him any good if you really wind up dead trying to find him. Please. Give yourself a little while longer here.”

Hutch reluctantly agreed, knowing he had little choice in his condition. He hoped Starsky would be all right until he could find him, but he had no idea where to look.

 

Part III of IV

When Starsky woke up at St. Isodore’s the next day, he wasn’t sure where he was. He smelled bacon and eggs wafting under his door, but he still had no appetite. He pulled on his shoes and headed in the direction of the breakfast scent.

Father Dolan smiled at him as he walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, David. You look a little better. How’s the head?”

“Hurts.” He sat down at the kitchen table and ran his left hand through his unruly curls.

Father Dolan chuckled. “I’ll bet. I made your breakfast.”

“No thanks, but I’ll take coffee if you have some.”

“David, how long has it been since you really ate?”

Starsky thought about refusing to answer, but there was something disarming about Father Dolan. He changed his mind. “Dunno. Few days maybe. I’m just not hungry.”

“Well, you’re going to eat this. Don’t argue with a man of the cloth.” The priest put a plate full of breakfast in front of Starsky. Reluctantly, he picked up a fork and began to pick at the food while Father Dolan fetched him a cup of coffee.

“David, I don’t mean to pry….”

“Then don’t, Father.” Starsky was about as sullen a character as he had encountered in a long time.

“Look, I couldn’t help noticing your scars. Did you try to kill yourself, David?”

“What if I did? Is that so wrong?” Starsky took another bite of his breakfast, then he dropped the fork on the plate and shoved it back away from him, having eaten little.

“Life is God’s most precious gift. He wouldn’t like it if you threw that gift away.”

“Well then, maybe God should think about that before taking away everything a man has to live for, Father.” Starsky looked at him with eyes that were full of pain and loss.

~*~*~*~

Dobey knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep Hutch in the hospital unless he gave him some way to help look for Starsky, so he had ordered Hill and Cavanaugh to drop everything else and devote themselves to the search, and to report everything they found to Hutch — ‘as long as they reported to their captain, too. He also told them to take their orders from Hutch, within reason, and to let him guide them in places to look and things to try.

Hutch chafed against the need to stay in the hospital, helpless to do anything to find Starsky, but he also knew that Hill and Cavanaugh were doing everything they could, and that he himself wouldn’t be much good on the streets in his condition. With nothing else to do but lie there and worry, Hutch put his brain to work trying to guess where Starsky might go and what he might do in the state of mind he was in. He didn’t like considering it, but it might be the only way he could help find his partner.

One thing he could do, and that was call his sister and tell her he was all right. But when he rang her house, her husband answered.

“Steve? It’s Ken.”

There was a stunned silence for several moments. And finally, Steve said, “My God, they said — ‘”

“I was dead. I know. I’m not. Is Karen there?”

“She’s in the hospital on strict bed rest,” Steve said. “They’re afraid she’ll go into labor too soon, and they’re giving her drugs to hold it off. And when she heard you were dead — ‘”

Hutch bit his lip. “Damn. Will you tell her, please? Gently? And do you know how to find my folks?”

“We’ve got numbers for the hotels they’re supposed to be staying at, but they haven’t reached the first one yet.”

“Leave a message then. Don’t tell them anything that way, just have them call as soon as they arrive.”

“I will,” Steve said. “What in hell happened? Where are you now?”

“In Bay City.” Hutch explained, as quickly as he could and without giving away any more than he had to, what had happened to him. Steve listened in silence, only whistling softly now and then at some of the details Hutch felt safe in sharing.

“Wow,” Steve said when he finished. “You okay?”

“I will be,” Hutch said. “Just make sure my folks know I’m not dead, will you?”

“Sure, Ken.”

When Hutch hung up, he saw Cavanaugh waiting in the doorway, looking none too happy. “What?” he asked, replacing the receiver.

“We’ve gone over Starsky’s place with a fine-tooth comb — ‘again — ‘and we can’t find anything to tell us where he went,” Cavanaugh said.

“Which clothes are missing?”

Cavanaugh looked even unhappier. “Honest, Hutch, I can’t tell. Looks like most of ’em are still there to me, but I don’t know what he’s got — ”

“Then catalogue every item and bring the list to me,” Hutch said. “I’ll know.”

“Everything?” Cavanaugh asked in dismay. “Why?”

“Because it might give me a clue where he went, that’s why!” Hutch snapped. “Just do it!”

Cavanaugh put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. We’ll get right on it.”

“Did you find his dad’s gun? Old six-shot revolver, top shelf of his closet.”

Cavanaugh shook his head, relieved he knew the answer to that one. “No. We searched his closet. It wasn’t there.”

“Okay. Good,” Hutch said. “Then he can protect himself.” He refused to think of what else Starsky might intend to do with the gun.

“We do have some good news,” Cavanaugh ventured. “He cleaned out his bank accounts when he left. Savings and checking. He’s got money, at least.”

“Put an alert on his credit card, too,” Hutch said. “He keeps his bills in the middle drawer of his desk and you can find the phone number there. If he uses it, we’ll know where he is.”

“Okay.” Cavanaugh made a note to himself.

After he left, Hutch lay back and tried to tell himself that if Starsky had taken money, he must not intend to do himself harm. He was running, that was all. Running away from the pain of losing Hutch and losing Marjorie. He was blaming himself.

~*~*~*~

Although Father Dolan urged “David Banner” to stay in the rectory for another day, Starsky refused. He wanted to move on. He didn’t want to stay anywhere for very long, and even the one night he’d been at the rectory made him restless and impatient.

But Dolan insisted he eat some lunch before he left, and Starsky reluctantly agreed. Still, he only pushed the food around on his plate again. He just had no appetite.

Dolan sat there and watched him not eating and finally said, “I wish you would let me help you. That is my business, you know.”

“You can’t help,” Starsky said. “You can’t bring them back.”

“Who?”

“The people who’ve died because of me.”

“No, I can’t,” Dolan said, wondering if this young man had been the cause of a car accident or what. “But perhaps I can give you some peace about it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“David, you can’t live your whole life blaming yourself for something that may not have been your fault. Please, tell me what you can.”

Starsky shook his head. “I can’t. Just that two people died because of me. I didn’t kill them,” he added, not wanting this man who had been kind to him to worry that he had a murderer in his home. “But it was my fault they died. And I can’t forgive myself for that.”

“Is that why you tried to take your own life?”

Starsky looked down at the scar on his left wrist, visible because he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt. And he shook his head. “No, Father. I didn’t do this,” he said, indicating the scar. “Someone else did that. The same person who killed Hu…my friend. And later tried to kill me and got someone else accidentally.”

“But how is that your fault?”

“I didn’t have my head on straight,” Starsky said softly. “If I had, I could’ve prevented it. I can’t say any more.”

Dolan shook his head sorrowfully and said a silent prayer to St. Lydwina to bring peace to this young man’s heart.

Starsky left immediately after the lunch he hadn’t eaten and went back to the bus station. He wouldn’t let Dolan give him a ride, though he offered. But when he got there, he decided against going to Lubbock after all. He had told Dolan too much, and that was one of the things he’d told him. After cashing in the ticket, he headed back outside to start hitchhiking. Starsky was headed out of Texas to Oklahoma City.

~*~*~*~

“Hutch!” Cavanaugh burst into Hutch’s room, followed closely by Hill, excitement all over both their faces. “His credit card was used in El Paso!”

Hutch struggled to a sitting position. “Where? What for?”

Cavanaugh looked down at the paper in his hand. “At an electronics store,” he said. “He bought a boom box.”

“A what?” Hutch snatched the paper out of Cavanaugh’s hand and studied it.

“A boom box. You know, one of those portable radio/cassette — ‘”

“I know what a boom box is,” Hutch snarled. “That wasn’t Starsky. Somebody rolled him.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Hill began, but stopped at a look from Hutch.

“I can be sure of that. Starsky hates those things. Says they’re cheap. He takes stereo equipment seriously. Didn’t you notice the stuff in his apartment?” Hutch’s hand shook a little as he looked down at the paper again. If someone had robbed Starsky, they might have hurt him. He didn’t have his wallet, so he didn’t have an ID, and maybe they’d gotten all his money, too. “Oh, God,” he said quietly, feeling dread settle in the pit of his stomach.

“At least we know where to start lookin’,” Cavanaugh offered.

“Alert the Texas State Police and the El Paso police,” Hutch said. “Tell the credit card company that we want that card reported stolen and if it’s used again, we want the person apprehended for questioning. Do it!” he added angrily, making Hill scurry for the telephone. To Cavanaugh, he said, “Where’s the list of Starsky’s clothes?”

Cavanaugh pulled several sheets of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed them over. Hutch studied it in silence for several minutes while Hill made the phone calls.

Reading to himself, Hutch realized Starsky’s UMASS t-shirt, his white sweatshirt, the hideous yellow-and-black plaid shirt his mother had sent him for his birthday a couple of years ago, and at least three pairs of jeans were missing. He’d left his boots and dress shoes behind. He apparently hadn’t taken a jacket….

“Are you sure all these jackets were in his apartment?” Hutch said suddenly.

“Yeah,” Cavanaugh said. “Man, he’s got a lot of jackets — ‘”

“He had to have taken a jacket,” Hutch said, muttering, as he looked over the list again.

“We figure he musta took your varsity jacket,” Cavanaugh said.

“My varsity jacket?” Hutch looked up.

“Your folks gave it to him,” Cavanaugh said uncomfortably, dropping his eyes. “When they, uh….”

“When they cleaned out my apartment after they thought I was dead,” Hutch finished. He knew about that. Dobey had told him, and then his parents had apologized profusely when they’d finally called last night. He wasn’t worried about that. He’d never been one to put much value on possessions, anyway, and right now the information was more important. “Then he’s probably wearing that,” Hutch said, choking back the lump in his throat at the thought. The things Starsky had chosen to take with him were all symbolic. The UMASS t-shirt. He’d wanted to go to college there when he was a kid. The white sweatshirt was the one he’d been wearing when Terry died. The yellow plaid shirt his mother had given him, that he almost never wore, but kept because it had been a gift from her. And Hutch’s varsity jacket. “Hill,” he ordered the other detective, “give the Texas State Police the description of that jacket. He’s wearing it.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky was dropped off in downtown Oklahoma City and he wondered where to go. He hadn’t really thought this through — ‘hell, he hadn’t thought any of this through — ‘and he’d never set foot in Oklahoma City before. He had no idea what to do now.

He didn’t want to just stand around looking stupid, either, so he started walking. Downtown was bustling with home-going office workers, and the streets, most of them one-way, were crowded with traffic trying to get out of downtown. Starsky was amazed at the number of cowboy hats and cowboy boots. Men in suits, carrying briefcases, wearing cowboy hats and boots. He grinned a little, then suppressed it. He didn’t want the people to think he was laughing at them, and a lone man walking down the city streets grinning was an open invitation for the police to inquire into what he was doing. He definitely didn’t want that.

At least there were plenty of people in jeans and sneakers, too, so he didn’t stand out. He passed a big many-sided building in the heart of downtown and watched, amazed, as car after car pulled out of a parking garage underneath it. He saw a sign pointing to “The Concourse” and decided to explore that. He had nothing else to do.

He was amazed all over again to discover that The Concourse was an underground tunnel, lined with shops and restaurants and banks, that seemed to encompass the whole downtown area. It was like a whole separate downtown underground. He supposed the shops and restaurants catered to the office workers above ground, who must find it easier in inclement weather to come down here than to walk the streets in search of lunch or a bank.

Most of the businesses were closed or closing and he realized that they probably suited their hours to the offices above. Now that those were closed, they probably wouldn’t have any customers.

There were many ways to return to ground level from The Concourse, but Starsky continued to walk, fascinated, and glad to have something to occupy his mind for a while.

“Hey, fella,” a voice behind him said, and Starsky turned. Oops. A cop.

He stopped and waited for the officer — ‘wearing cowboy boots — ‘to catch up. “Yes, sir?”

“What y’all doin’ down here?” the officer asked. “Everythin’s closin’ down.”

The cardinal rule of working undercover was, don’t lie unless you have to. Makes it easier to keep your story straight. So Starsky gave a grin and a shrug and said, “I’m a tourist. From California. I never saw anything like this before.”

The cop relaxed. “Yeah, it’s somethin’, ain’t it. Why don’t ya come back tomorrow when the stores’re open and visit again? Ain’t much fun right now.”

“I will,” Starsky said. “Except I don’t know how to get out.”

The cop grinned. “Easy to think you got turned around, but there’s only one way you can go. If you go down yonder,” he pointed back the way Starsky had come, “you’ll pop right out at the Myriad. That where you parked?”

“The Myriad?”

“The convention center.”

“Oh, yeah,” Starsky said. “Yeah. That’s where I came in.” He gave the cop a friendly wave and went back the way he’d come. No sense in drawing attention to himself.

Once he emerged into daylight again, he was right back where he started. Didn’t know his way around, didn’t know where to go. From the sidewalk outside the Myriad, he could see a sign pointing to Interstate 40. It was bumper-to-bumper traffic. Rush hour. No sense in trying to hitch a ride in that mess. Nobody seemed to do much walking here, either. But he had no choice, so he picked a direction at random and started walking. Within a few blocks, he came to a soup kitchen. There was a line on the sidewalk. The smell of meat loaf floated out through the open door, and Starsky figured he might as well join the line. He slipped in behind a wino who reeked of cheap liquor and unwashed clothes and flesh.

~*~*~*~

The credit card company, at Hutch’s insistence, had sent a copy of the credit slip used in El Paso. As soon as Hutch laid eyes on it, he knew Starsky hadn’t signed it. It said “David Starsky,” but the handwriting bore no resemblance to Starsky’s backhanded scrawl.

A few days later, the card was used again.

“Jewelry store,” Hill said, reporting to Hutch. “They confiscated the card and the clerk gave us a description of the guy who used it, but they couldn’t catch him. He ran off.”

“Do the El Paso police have a description?”

Hill nodded. “Yeah. It’s kinda vague, though. But they’re going through their files.”

Hutch had gotten over the Dengue Fever, but his leg still wouldn’t bear weight well enough to have a walking cast, the doctor had said. And neither the doctor nor Dobey would hear of him traveling until then.

But every day that passed put the chances of picking up Starsky’s trail more out of reach.

When he was alone to think again, Hutch made his decision. He was leaving the hospital in the morning with or without the doctor’s or Dobey’s permission. Hutch didn’t care if he had a walking cast, if he didn’t, he’d use crutches. He reached for the phone.

“The Pits, what’s happenin’?” Huggy answered. Hutch knew he could get Huggy to help him despite any initial protest he might make.

“It’s Hutch.”

“What’s up, my blond friend?”

Hutch took a deep breath. “I need you to do something for me. Call your travel agent friend and get me a flight to El Paso for tomorrow morning.”

Huggy interrupted, “Hutch, listen….”

“No, Huggy. I’m done sitting here. I’m going tomorrow whether they release me or not. Some thug was out there using Starsky’s credit card. He could be hurt, Hug. I have to find him, and I really need your help.” Hutch prayed Huggy would soften. He could do it without him, but his resourceful friend would make everything easier.

Huggy was silent for a moment. When Hutch heard him sigh into the phone, he knew he had won. “All right, Blondie. Talk to the doc and Dobey first, though. I’ll make the call.”

“Thanks, Hug. Get me a rental car, too, okay?”

“Yeah. Don’t forget, drop a dime on Dobey.” Huggy hung up the phone.

Hutch decided to wait until after he talked to the doctor to call the captain. He didn’t have to wait long. When the doctor came in, Hutch started the conversation by asking when he could go home — ‘no sense arguing if it wasn’t necessary.

“I’d like you here another two days.” Hutch was disappointed at the reply.

“Sorry, Doc. I’m leaving in the morning.” His tone was definite.

“I advise against that. I don’t want you bearing any weight on that leg for another week and your shoulder injury will likely prevent you from effectively using crutches.”

Hutch asked, “What about those crutches with the arm braces on them?”

“You might be able to use forearm crutches. Still, your fever has only been gone for a day and I don’t like….”

Hutch cut him off before he could lay out the entirety of his objections.

“Save it, Doc. I’m going. I’m sorry, but I have to go. What would you say to switching this cast for a walking one as long as I promise to use the crutches and stay off it for another week?” Hutch smiled at him with his most sincere look.

The doctor could read the determination on his patient’s face even through the sincere smile. “Listen to me a minute. You need to rest. Your captain explained the situation to me. You won’t do Detective Starsky any good if you collapse on the road somewhere suffering from a relapse. I’m only going to help you if you can show me you are able to navigate on those crutches and you promise to rest every day.”

Hutch nodded. Then as the doctor sat making notes in Hutch’s chart, softly clucking and shaking his head, Hutch asked him a question he had hoped he would never ask.

“Doc, did you treat Starsky?”

The doctor put his pen down and peered at Hutch over his bifocals. “Yes, I did. Well, I was one of his physicians.” He knew this conversation would do nothing to ease his patient’s mind, nor would it give him any peace.

“Level with me. How bad was it?” Hutch looked hopeful that the doctor would answer.

For a moment, the doctor considered hiding behind the shield of doctor patient confidentiality. One look into his patient’s pleading eyes squelched that idea.

“You really want it straight?”

“Always.” Hutch didn’t like the probable meaning behind that question.

“It was bad. He bled out more than half of his blood volume. We almost lost him a few times, but he’s a fighter. Fortunately, his left wrist was not cut as badly. The right was more serious. His brachial artery was severed. If both wrists had been cut that badly, he would have died before we ever saw him.” He paused a moment to let that soak in, concerned by the lack of color in Hutch’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. How many stitches?”

“Why do you need to know that? I can see even telling you what I have so far is upsetting you.”

“How many!?” Hutch raised his voice louder than he intended. When he was determined to find out something, nothing could dissuade him. His friends had successfully kept the full extent of Starsky’s injuries from him and he needed to know.

“I don’t remember exactly, but I think it was around eighty.” The doctor braced himself for the explosion.

“Eighty! Oh, God. Could he even use his hands?” He knew that was serious and his concern was increasing.

“He was doing fairly well with his left when he checked out of the hospital. We kept him a little over a week. The right wrist had extensive nerve and tendon damage. I recall there being concern he would never regain feeling in it, but he had some returning by the time he left.” The doctor prayed that small ray of hope would help Hutch.

Hutch imagined all kinds of dangers for his best friend. He was even more determined to get out of the hospital and look for him. Starsky was wandering God knew where — ‘hurt, alone, depressed, blaming himself, possibly bordering on suicidal, and probably unable to defend himself.

“Doc, it’s been a few weeks. Do you think he could defend himself in a fight with his hands in that shape?”

This might be the hardest thing for the blond man to hear. “I’m sorry. Not a chance. Not for weeks to come, if ever.” He patted Hutch on the leg and said, “Let’s see what we can do to get you out of here so you can go find him.”

Hutch’s mouth was dry and his mind was racing. “Th-thanks, Doc.” He was sorry he had to wait until morning. His partner was a sitting duck and Hutch needed to find him before he got hurt, if it wasn’t already too late.

~*~*~*~

Starsky sat at a long, lunchroom style table attempting to eat what could possibly be stew and a roll. The meat loaf had looked too scary to try, but this mushy, pasty, grayish mess held no appeal, either. He knew he should eat something, but just didn’t have any appetite and the meal before him was doing nothing to improve it.

The soup kitchen’s manager was watching Starsky from the end of the line of food servers. He’d noticed the dark-haired man when he came through the line. Starsky looked like a ghost. The pale face with brilliant blue eyes set deep in dark circles had a strange sadness painted on it. Starsky was a lot younger than most of the men in the room and his eyes were clear. That telltale look that Don Carlton had come to recognize in the mentally ill was absent. He noticed the man push his plate of food away, quickly followed by the man next to him taking it. The curly-haired man put his arms on the table and put his head down on them. Don excused himself from the serving line and crossed the room to talk to the ghost.

“Evenin’.” He sat down on the bench next to Starsky, facing away from him. The man made no response.

“Name’s Don. Haven’t seen you around here.”

Starsky picked up his head and said, “I’m just passing through.” He acted like he was going to stand up to go and Don put a hand on his forearm. The man flinched when his hand touched the hard brace under his jacket sleeve.

Don hated it sometimes that he cared about the lost souls that flitted through his soup kitchen, but he couldn’t help it. Some of them just cried out to him like the man sitting next to him. “Take it easy, buddy. What’s the hurry?”

“Don’t call me that.” Starsky’s eyes narrowed and looked cold.

“Sorry. What’s your name, then?”

“David. Thanks for the dinner, now I’m out of here.”

“Wait, you didn’t even eat any.”

“What are you, my mother? I said thanks, now get out of my way.” Starsky was stuck between Don and the smelly vagrant sitting on the other side eating his untouched stew.

Don stood up slowly. “We have room for you to spend the night if you want. Didn’t mean to offend you. You just looked like you needed somebody to talk to, that’s all.”

Starsky picked up his knapsack and left. He was in no mood to talk to anyone. All he wanted was to be alone. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and started off down the street. Starsky laughed to himself at the thought that not knowing where he was going meant total freedom. A line from an old song floated through his mind: “Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose.” Anywhere he went was fine — ‘as long as it took him far away from Bay City and the pain he felt over letting his friends die.

Walking down Western Street, Starsky didn’t notice what a bad neighborhood it was. Dive bars, adult bookstores, and streetwalkers were everywhere. A few of the ladies of the evening tried to come on to him, but he walked on, oblivious.When he got near 10th, he heard the loud sound of a honky tonk band coming from an establishment with a sign that read “Blue Diamond.” Although he had never understood Hutch’s love of country music and its near relatives, he thought maybe listening to a little of it would help him feel closer to his friend. A beer or four might help deaden the pain for just one night, too.

He crossed the street and walked into the sleazy, run down bar. The smoky room was dim and the band was still playing. He walked up to the bar and sat down, ordering a beer. Looking around the room, he noticed that most of the people were just as run down as the bar. He looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar and chuckled at the thought that he fit right in at the Blue Diamond.

Half way through the beer, his ears perked up at the sounds of what was probably a drunken man trying to pick up on an unwilling woman. He looked up at the forty-something redhead who was trying to fend off a man twice as big as Starsky. He didn’t care, that just wasn’t right. All of the other bar patrons were discreetly ignoring the problem.

He stood and walked closer to the man who looked like he belonged under a bridge as its resident troll. Attempting to put himself between the woman and the mostly toothless giant, he put a hand on the man’s chest and said, “The lady said to leave her alone, now blow.”

The man was wearing a black t-shirt that read “White is Right.” He glared at Starsky, turning his attention away from the redhead who was making a hasty exit.

“What’s it to you, Curly?” he asked, standing up to his full height, towering over the much shorter Starsky.

“Stuff it.” Starsky knew that would make the man angrier, but he didn’t care. Subconsciously, he had given up caring if anyone hurt him.

Troll Man threw a punch at Starsky and he successfully blocked it with his left arm, but doing so cost him a wave of pain and nausea. He realized there was no way he was going to be able to make a fist and fight this man. Wishing he were wearing his dad’s gun instead of carrying it in his knapsack, he did his best to hold off the larger man’s attack. A few minutes into the altercation, the Blue Diamond’s bouncer broke up the fight and tossed Starsky into the alley behind the bar, throwing his knapsack on top of him as he slammed the back door. The bouncer didn’t dare tangle with Troll Man. He even dwarfed the bouncer.

Starsky lay in the alley for a few minutes trying to catch his breath. He thought to himself it was amazing he had been beaten up twice in just a few days. If he kept this up, maybe someone would finally kill him. The thought was not unpleasant.

He pulled his knapsack over and dug inside for one of his pictures of Hutch. The one he found showed him with his best friend sitting near a bonfire on the beach near Hutch’s place. Terry had taken the photo of the two best friends teasing each other about something Starsky couldn’t even remember. Hutch had on his black and white jacket and Starsky was glad he had that to cling to now. A single tear slid down his face and he said, “I sure miss you, buddy. I’m sorry I let you down.”

Even if he was depressed, Starsky refused to spend a night sleeping in a dirty alley. He put the photo back, stumbled to his feet and walked back toward the soup kitchen. Don had said he could sleep there. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea.

When Starsky appeared in the doorway of the shelter, Don saw him immediately. The ghost named David was now bloody, bruised, and leaning on the doorframe for support. He quickly crossed the room and put an arm around Starsky’s waist. The man tried to pull away from him, but he was firm this time.

“David, let me help you. Come on, you can lie down in here.”

Don helped him into another room and sat him down on a cot. Starsky looked up at him and said, “Thanks. I don’t mean to be any trouble.”

“David, have you been in a fight? You need medical attention.” Don was concerned about the beating the man had obviously taken in the time since he left the shelter.

“NO No doctors. Just let me sleep.”

“Where did this happen? Were you robbed?”

Starsky shook his head. “Nah. Place called the Blue Diamond.”

“That’s a dangerous place. You could have been killed tangling with any of that crowd.” Don had been in the Blue Diamond. He shuddered at the thought of this obviously hurting man wandering in there.

“Too bad I wasn’t.” That said, Starsky keeled over on the cot and fell asleep.

Starsky was deeply asleep. Don didn’t like the idea of not having someone look at the beaten man, but he wasn’t worried about a head injury. He had seemed coherent enough. He picked Starsky’s feet up onto the cot and covered him with a blanket. He went through Starsky’s pockets and knapsack looking for identification but didn’t find any. He did find a picture of Starsky with a blond man wearing the same jacket Starsky had on that night. He put the picture back and placed the knapsack on the cot next to the sleeping man and he draped an arm over it. That should keep it pretty safe. The room was quiet since the weather wasn’t really bad. Don decided to keep an eye on Starsky through the night. The man obviously had enough problems without being robbed.

~*~*~*~

Hutch got off the plane in El Paso and saw the uniformed officer waiting for him. He hobbled over to the man. “I’m Hutchinson.”

“Welcome to El Paso, Sergeant,” the young man said. “I’m Joe Diggs. My captain asked me to take you to wherever you’re staying and then bring you to the station. We have a suspect in custody.”

“The guy who stole my partner’s credit card?”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said.

“What are we waiting for? Let’s go to the station.”

“What about your baggage, Sergeant?”

“It’s ‘Hutch,’ please,” Hutch said.

Diggs looked doubtful about calling him “Hutch,” but carried his bag for him so he wouldn’t have to struggle with it and the crutches, too. He escorted Hutch out to the squad car and drove him to the station. After he’d introduced Hutch to his captain and they’d exchanged a couple of pleasantries, the captain — ‘Hanks was his name — ‘said, “I suppose you’d like to interrogate our suspect.”

“Yes, I would,” Hutch said.

Diggs fetched the suspect from lockup and got him installed in an interrogation room and stood by as guard while the captain and Hutch sat down across from him.

The suspect wasn’t much more than a kid, maybe 19 or 20 at most, and he was horribly nervous.

“This is Sergeant Hutchinson,” Captain Hanks said to the young man, without mentioning that Hutch was from Bay City, California. “The credit card belongs to his partner.”

The kid’s eyes turned to Hutch and immediately fell. “You — ‘you can’t prove I stole it, man,” he said, his voice shaking.

“I’m afraid we can prove you were the one using it,” Hanks said. “Security camera, Bobby. You used it and we got it on film. Doesn’t matter much who stole it at that point. You were usin’ it, and it ain’t yours.”

Bobby folded his hands and kept his eyes down.

Hutch reached out and snagged a handful of the kid’s shirt, making Bobby look at him. “My partner’s missing,” he said in that level, threatening voice that suspects in Bay City knew well. “You had his credit card, scum. I wanna know how you got it.”

Diggs’ eyebrows rose, but Hanks merely sat back in his chair and crossed his legs. He’d worked in Dallas for several years, so he was familiar with big-city police procedure, and he’d personally received a phone call from Dobey telling him he could trust Hutch.

Bobby was trembling and sweating. “Man, I didn’t do nothin’ to him!”

“Where did you get that credit card?” Hutch asked, separating each word. His eyes bore into Bobby’s.

“Okay, okay, man, look, we didn’t hurt him. Honest. Me and a buddy found him at the bus station, and we rolled him and took his wallet,” Bobby spat out, terrified. “We didn’t take nothin’ else. A preacher or priest or somethin’ came in and chased us off before we got anything else.”

“What bus station?”

“The one downtown!”

“When?”

“A week or so ago,” Bobby said.

“What’d he look like? The man you took the wallet from?”

“Curly hair, few days’ worth o’ beard, jeans, some kind of high school jacket,” Bobby said, afraid to look at Hutch and afraid to look away.

Hanks shifted in his chair. “Was the priest Father Dolan, Bobby?”

Bobby glanced at Hanks. “I dunno, honest.”

“Father Dolan,” Hanks said to Hutch, “often hangs around the bus station looking for transients who need a hot meal and a shower. He’s sort of our resident Good Samaritan.”

“Trustworthy?” Hutch asked.

“Totally. Good man, actually. Fills ’em up with a meal, gives ’em a clean place to sleep, sometimes tries to find ’em a job or hooks ’em up with the folks at the mission. I’ll give him a call, ask him if he remembers your friend.” Hanks left the room.

Hutch turned back to Bobby. “What did you do with Starsky’s wallet?”

“Just threw it down,” Bobby said. “After we took the credit card out.”

Hanks came back several minutes later. “I think it was your friend,” he said to Hutch. “Dolan remembers rescuing a man who was getting robbed at the bus station and he said he had curly hair and a varsity jacket.”

“Take me to him,” Hutch said, rising and forgetting all about Bobby.

“Put him back in lockup,” Hanks said to Diggs, indicating Bobby, “then take the sergeant over to St. Isidore’s.”

“Yes, sir,” Diggs said.

~*~*~*~*

St. Isidore’s was in a rundown neighborhood whose better days had been many years ago. But it was a warm little church, with old-fashioned stained-glass windows and several statues of saints and the Holy Family, Gothic architecture, and the slight scent of incense hanging in the air.

Father Dolan greeted them with a smile at the rectory door, next door to the church. “Hi, Joe,” he said to Diggs. “How’s your mama?”

“She’s doing a lot better, Father,” Diggs said. “She hopes she can come back to church on Sunday.”

“Good, good. I’ll drop by and see her tomorrow,” Dolan said. “And you must be Sergeant Hutchinson.”

Hutch nodded.

“Come in, boys. I have coffee on.” Dolan led the way to the rectory’s small but spotlessly clean kitchen and gave them each a mug of coffee. Taking a third one for himself, he sat down at the table. “What can I help you with, Sergeant?”

“I think the man you picked up at the bus station last week was my partner,” Hutch said. He pulled a photo out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the table to Dolan. “Is that him?”

Dolan picked the photo up and studied it. “Yes, that’s David, all right. Of course, he didn’t look that good when I entertained him. I fear he hasn’t been taking care of himself.”

“How bad was it?” Hutch asked fearfully.

“Oh, he’s lost some weight and he looked like he hadn’t slept for days,” Dolan said, shaking his head. “He needed a shave, too. And he’s carrying a great deal of pain in his heart.” Dolan frowned suddenly and looked at Hutch more closely. “You’re his partner?”

Hutch nodded.

“Then perhaps you know what’s troubling him so. He told me a friend had been killed and the same people had tried to kill him. He’s wearing a brace on his right hand and has quite a nasty scar on his left wrist.”

“I’m that friend,” Hutch said, his voice catching a little. “He doesn’t know I’m not dead, Father. It’s a long story — ‘”

Dolan nodded. “He blames himself.”

Hutch nodded again. “I know. I would, too, in his position.”

“Can you tell me anything? If you can’t, I understand.”

Hutch glanced at Diggs, who’d been listening in silence. “A little, I guess. We were working on a drug case and one of them came after me. Starsky just got in the way. They kidnapped me and they cut his wrists and left him for dead. Then they sent photos back to my captain that made it look like I was dead and — ‘” He stopped. “I guess Starsky believed them.”

“Starsky?” Dolan asked, eyebrows raised. “He said his name was David Banner.”

“Banner?” Hutch said quizzically.

“A false name, obviously,” Dolan said. “In fact, I’m sure he didn’t expect me to recognize it, but that’s The Incredible Hulk’s alter ego.” He smiled gently. “Probably didn’t think a man of the cloth reads comic books. But Foxe’s Book of Martyrs does pall after a while, and I read other things.”

“Did he know you were onto him?”

Dolan shook his head. “A man in my line of work doesn’t do much good if he’s too curious, Officer. If he had wanted to talk, he would have. I tried to encourage him to talk to me, but he didn’t want to. He’s too deep into his pain right now. So, I did what I could do. I fed him and gave him a place to sleep, and I prayed for him. In fact, I am still praying for him.”

“Me, too,” Hutch said with a sigh. “I just hope it does some good.”

“He has a troubled soul,” Dolan said. “Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, and David is carrying much more than his share, my friend. Blaming oneself for the death of another is a pain like no other. I take it you’re very close.”

Hutch nodded. “He’s my best friend.”

“I thought so,” Dolan said. “May I speak plainly, Sergeant?”

“Please do,” Hutch said.

“I have been in the business of serving the Lord for 30 years,” Dolan said. “I have seen more troubled souls in those years than you will ever see, young man, God willing. I have seen men and women who are bent on destroying themselves and I have seen many of them succeed. Your friend David is punishing himself, Sergeant.”

Hutch waited, his heart beating so hard he could feel it thumping.

“There are many ways to kill oneself,” Dolan went on. “David has set his feet on that road, but he cannot bring himself to do it outright. Instead, he is slowly dying, from the inside out.”

Hutch swallowed hard.

“Find him, young man. Whatever it takes. I could see that there is a fine, brave man under all that pain, and he must be saved.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky woke early and set out to leave town. He headed back for the Myriad because it had been so near the highway, but at this hour on a Saturday, I-40 was nearly deserted. Starsky started walking anyway, figuring sooner or later a friendly trucker or another motorist would come by and give him a ride.

He trudged along, eyes down, not even bothering to stick out his thumb. So he was startled when a car pulled up on the shoulder in front of him, and a blonde girl stuck her head out the window. “Need a ride, mister?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Starsky said, speeding up to a trot. The car was a rusty old LTD and reminded him of Hutch’s, but he squashed that thought and smiled at the two girls in the front seat. “I appreciate this, ladies.”

They giggled — ‘both were quite young — ‘and the blonde said, “That’s okay. You look tired.”

“Where’re ya goin’?” the driver asked, also blonde, but obviously bleached. Her roots needed a touch-up. Starsky was in no mood to be critical, however.

“Anywhere. I’m just trying to get outta town,” he said.

“We’re goin’ to Tinker,” offered the blonde.

“Tinker?”

“The Air Force base,” she said.

Starsky shrugged. “That’ll do.”

The girls chattered to each other and addressed the occasional remark to Starsky, but he mostly just looked out the window and let their talking wash over him. He didn’t care where he went, as long as he kept moving.

As they approached a cloverleaf where another highway crossed I-40, a semi careened onto the road in front of them, out of control, and turned over on its side, sliding into a pickup and sending the pickup flying onto the median. The driver screamed and slammed on the brakes, trying to avoid the semi sliding down the highway on its side, but she couldn’t get stopped in time. Her quick reflexes made the impact less serious, but only marginally so. The crash sent both girls into the dash and Starsky hit his head so hard he saw stars. And then he lost consciousness.

When he came to, there were seven or eight other vehicles crashed into the mess with them, glass all over the highway, and blood was trickling down his face from a nasty cut on the side of his head. His head ached and his whole body felt as if he’d been in a prizefight and lost. But he shook it off and checked on the two girls. The driver was dead; he could see that at a glance. The blonde girl in the passenger seat was unconscious, badly hurt, but still alive. Starsky had to roll down the window and climb out of the mangled car, but once he was out, he discovered he wasn’t badly hurt himself. He looked wildly around for help.

The truck had to have a CB. They all did. He just hoped it still worked. He ran toward it and climbed in through the passenger window, ignoring the body of the driver that was crumpled against the other door.

The CB worked, barely. “Mayday! Mayday!” Starsky said frantically. “Bad wreck on I-40 at the junction of — ‘” he glanced toward the other highway and couldn’t read the sign telling its number. But he could see the mile marker. “At mile marker 129!”

“I read ya,” a voice drawled after he’d transmitted the message a second time. “Easy, pal. I’m callin’ for help.”

“10-4,” Starsky said gratefully. “Massive injuries, at least nine or ten vehicles involved.”

“Roger,” the voice answered.

Starsky climbed out of the truck and started checking other vehicles for survivors. In a short time, he heard sirens. But before they got there, he smelled smoke and realized that a station wagon, which had rolled into the eastern ditch, was on fire. He ran. And as he got closer, he heard a child’s scream.

The station wagon was in worse shape than the LTD he’d been riding in. The gas line had apparently been severed in the impact, and the friction as the car slid down the highway had set it on fire. Smoke was rolling from the car and, fearing it would explode, Starsky raced to check for survivors. A small child, about four years old, was trapped in the backseat, tangled in the seat belt from which she’d tried to escape. Two adults in the front were dead. Starsky fought with the door, but it wouldn’t open. The little girl was hysterical, big enough to be afraid of the fire, but too small to help free herself.

Starsky coughed and tried not to breathe any more smoke than necessary. Police, fire engines, and ambulances started to arrive, but he didn’t hear or see them, so intent was he on getting that child out of the burning car. He looked around, frantic to find something to use to break the window. Spotting a long piece of metal that had snapped off of the car, he quickly grabbed it and rushed back to the car window. Finally, he yelled, “Cover your face, sweetheart!” The child cowered, going into a fetal position, and Starsky drew back the piece of metal and smashed the window. Somehow, he got the child out and ran with her, away from the car. The combination of adrenaline, determination, and damage from his previous injuries caused him not to notice that the metal was hot from the fire on the pavement and he now had burns in the palms of both hands.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she screamed. “Don’t forget Mommy and Daddy!”

“The firemen’ll get them, sweetheart,” Starsky said hoarsely. “Hush, it’s okay.”

Starsky carried the child back to where the rescue vehicles were. When a paramedic attempted to take her from him she screamed and clung to him as if he were her only lifeline. By this time, he was coughing, and his hands had started to hurt. Still, he sat with her and refused to let the paramedic force her from him.

When his cough calmed a little he said, “Just let me hold her while you look her over, huh? I think she’s more scared than hurt. Get the firemen over to that LTD. Driver’s dead and the passenger’s hurt bad.”

The paramedic used his flashlight to check the child’s pupils. He also took her vital signs while she clung to Starsky.

“You her father?” he finally asked.

Starsky shook his head. “I pulled her out of the station wagon in that ditch.” He pointed in the direction of the flaming wreckage. The paramedic took in the fact that the child’s parents were surely dead, and he also noticed the angry burn on Starsky’s palm.

Giving Starsky a concerned look, he said, “I’ll be right back.” Then he trotted off to the paramedic unit.

“Sweetheart?” Starsky said gently. He rocked the little girl and petted her hair. “What’s your name?”

The child sniffled but didn’t answer.

“Come on now. I need to know your name. I’ll tell you mine.”

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her soot covered cheeks. “You first.”

He smiled. “Okay, sweetheart. Mine’s Dave. Now you.” Starsky had always been good with children.

“Rachel,” she said quietly.

“Good job, Rachel. You know, that’s my mom’s name, too? Do you know your last name?”

She nodded and whispered, “Klein.”

The paramedic had returned with his partner, a stretcher, an IV bag, and some other items including oxygen for both the child and Starsky. He had radioed ahead to a doctor for permission to give the child something to calm her down since she didn’t seem to have a head injury. While Starsky distracted Rachel, the paramedic inserted the IV line and emptied a sedative into it. Starsky was relieved when the little girl slowly went limp in his arms and he was able to hand her to the paramedics.

When the man’s partner attempted to start oxygen on Starsky he waved him off and growled, “I’m all right. Leave me alone.”

“Look, you’re covered with soot, your head is bleeding, you’re coughing, and you have burned hands. At least let me look at you and give you some oxygen for a few minutes.”

Starsky’s chest really did hurt. He decided to play along, but on his terms. “All right, but I’m not going to any hospital. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” The paramedic started the oxygen and took a surreptitious look at Starsky. Despite his long sleeves, the man had noticed the long scar on Starsky’s wrist and the brace on the other hand. The dark-haired man looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, or slept much either. He was thin, pale, and in obvious pain from the burned palms. While they were treating him and bundling Rachel off into the unit, Starsky failed to notice the approaching news reporter.

News writers at one of the local channels had heard about the crash on their newsroom scanners. A crew was already out in the field filming another story from the station helicopter and it was only a few minutes before they were able to land the chopper next to the sprawling wreck site.

The reporter nosed around the witnesses and rescue personnel with his cameraman filming all the while. A shot of the flaming station wagon and some careful questions about its occupants brought the reporter and his entourage over to where Starsky sat.

“Excuse me, sir, Brad Derek, Eye Witness News. Is it true that you are the man who pulled a child out of that burning station wagon?” The man stuck a microphone under Starsky’s nose. He looked up at the camera, panic in his eyes.

As he became agitated, Starsky’s cough became a hack. He was able to bite out, “Get away from me.” The cameraman pulled back the shot to show Starsky sitting on the bumper of a fire truck. A witness had told them that Starsky was hurt, his hands burned. The cameraman focused in on Starsky’s hands, catching the brace on the one hand, and the other holding his chest while he hacked.

“What’s your name? What does it feel like to be a hero?” The unfortunate reporter was about to get a surprise.

Starsky got his coughing more under control and he dropped the oxygen mask to the ground. He stood up suddenly, swaying a little. The reporter put a hand out to steady him. Starsky grabbed him by the lapels of his coat as hard as his weakened grip would allow and yelled in his face, “I ain’t nobody’s hero. You got that? Now get away from me!” He shoved the man backward and put his left hand up to shield his face from the camera. That only resulted in the camera getting a good shot at both the burn on his hand and the scar on his wrist. He shoved his way past the stunned cameraman and stalked over to the LTD. The girls had already been removed from it. He reached into the back and retrieved his knapsack, and then he turned and got away from the scene. He walked down the road as fast as he could go.

~*~*~*~

After his disheartening talk with Father Dolan, Hutch went to the bus station to see if Starsky had taken a bus anywhere. He and Diggs found out that Starsky had purchased a ticket for Lubbock, and then cashed it in without buying a ticket for any other destination.

“That means he’s hitchhiking,” Hutch said rubbing the bridge of his nose. “That’s just great.”

Diggs could see the blond was exhausted. “Uh, Hutch, why don’t you let me take you to the hotel? You look beat.”

Hutch looked up at him, intent on arguing the point, but he decided maybe it was the best thing to do. He really was so tired he could barely stand, and he didn’t want to hit the road that tired.

“Yeah. Will you pick me up tomorrow morning at a little before eight? I want to be there when the rental car agency opens so I can get on the road.”

“Sure thing.” Diggs led the way back to the car and helped Hutch get inside. A few minutes later they pulled into the La Siesta Motor Lodge where Diggs had gotten Hutch a room earlier in the day. The hotel was small and Spartan, but clean and within walking distance of a coffee shop. Diggs helped him get into the room.

“You sure you’re gonna be all right tonight?” Diggs felt a little guilty leaving Hutch alone, on crutches, sick with worry, and in a strange town. He had tried unsuccessfully to talk Hutch into staying at his place.

“I’m fine. Just gonna check in with my captain and hit the sack. You were right, I’m beat. Thanks.” He smiled at Diggs, grateful for his help.

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night.” Hutch closed the door and looked around the small room. He sat down on the bed and called Dobey.

“Dobey. He sounded harried. Hutch smiled, what should be different about today?

“Hey, it’s Hutch,” he said.

Dobey sounded suddenly interested. “Anything?”

“A little. He was here. I interrogated the kid who got his credit card. Lying little creep said they didn’t hurt him. He and another guy got to him in the bathroom at the bus station.” Hutch was still angry about that. He knew the kid had to be lying. Starsky wouldn’t just hand over his wallet to some two-bit punk without a struggle, no matter how upset he was.

Dobey could hear the strain in Hutch’s voice. “What else?”

“Aw, Cap.” Hutch closed his eyes and slumped back onto the bed with the phone. “He stayed the night with a local priest. Sort of a Good Samaritan who rescued him. Father Dolan said he looked bad. Said he wasn’t eating and he hadn’t slept. He’s using an alias, David Banner. Will you let Huggy know?”

“Right away. How long ago did he leave El Paso?”

“Around a week, Cap. He’s got a good head start on me again. Cap, he’s hitchhiking.”

Hutch’s voice was tight. Dobey didn’t like that either. Starsky was depressed and not thinking clearly. He might get in with someone who would hurt him.

“Cap, you hear anything on your end?”

“I just got off the phone with Huggy. He said ‘nada.’ Starsky hasn’t contacted anyone and he hasn’t been seen since he left here. The information you got today is all we have.”

Hutch was frustrated. “I’m afraid something is gonna happen to him before I can find him. Father Dolan said….” Hutch had to stop, his voice breaking.

“What? Hutch?” Dobey was uncomfortable with the lengthy pause.

Hutch managed to say it. “He said Starsky was trying to kill himself slowly. Said he couldn’t do it outright.”

The conversation stopped while both men thought about what Father Dolan told Hutch. Dobey decided not to belabor the point. They both knew how serious the situation was. “What’s next, Hutch?”

“Tomorrow morning I’m going to the rental car agency. I’m just going to hit the interstate and see what I can find until another lead surfaces. Even if they find the other kid who robbed Starsk, I’ve gotten everything there is to get here.”

“You sound really tired. Are you resting? You know I only agreed to this under certain conditions.” Dobey had reluctantly agreed to Hutch’s plan on his promise to rest and take care of his leg. The doctor had threatened the blond detective with a permanent limp if he failed to follow instructions.

“Yeah, I’m resting. I’ve stayed off the leg. Don’t worry about me, let’s just concentrate on finding Starsky. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

Hutch hung up the phone. He stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, realizing if he didn’t get moving he was going to fall asleep right there. Hutch got back up on his crutches and left the room to go get some dinner at the coffee shop across the street. Half an hour later he returned with a bag of nondescript food and a soda stuffed into his jacket pockets. He snapped on the television and sat down on the floor close enough to reach the channel selector. When he found a station with news he stopped.

Eating his dinner and paying peripheral attention to the television, Hutch looked up when he heard a news story that had taken place earlier that day involving a serious traffic accident. He couldn’t help thinking it must have been a slow news day.

The anchor was saying, “Earlier today, a nine car pileup on Interstate 40 just outside Oklahoma City kept traffic at a crawl for hours.” The tape of the accident site started to roll.

Hutch whistled softly. “What a mess,” he said aloud.

Suddenly, he became totally alert as the camera panned to a man sitting huddled on the bumper of a fire truck with an oxygen mask on his face.

“Excuse me, sir, Brad Derek, Eye Witness News. Is it true that you are the man who pulled a child out of that burning station wagon?”

“Get away from me.” When the man dropped the oxygen mask to bark out that order, Hutch instantly recognized Starsky. His head was cut, and his face was covered with a mixture of sweat, soot, and blood. The shot pulled back again and then focused on Starsky’s hands. Hutch could see the brace and his own chest tightened as he watched his friend cough and hold his chest with his left hand.

The reporter was typically persistent. Hutch knew how well Starsky was going to respond. “What’s your name? What does it feel like to be a hero?”

Hutch watched in horrified fascination as Starsky stood on wavering legs and grabbed the persistent man by the coat. Even Hutch was shocked by the vehemence in Starsky’s voice. “I ain’t nobody’s hero. You got that? Now get away from me!” After he pushed the man, Starsky put his hand up and Hutch got a good look at the damage. He had a long, ugly scar on his wrist and what looked in that quick shot like at least a second degree burn on his palm. The wounds looked terrible and Hutch felt tears coming to his eyes. The camera shot Starsky running away from the scene and then panned back to the reporter.

“This is Brad Derek, Eye Witness News.”

The anchor was continuing, “The accident took the lives of six people, and injured fourteen. Some were treated and released, but eight people remain hospitalized tonight. Up next, weather with….” Hutch reached up and turned off the television. He was shaken and afraid for Starsky. He scooted back over to the phone and called Dobey, at home this time.

“Cap, it’s Hutch again. I just saw Starsky on a news broadcast.”

“WHAT? WHERE?” Dobey bellowed. Edith Dobey looked up from the kitchen table where she was helping Rosie with a homework project, hoping her husband’s outburst signaled some news of Starsky.

“Outside Oklahoma City. Looks like he was involved at a major accident site.”

“Do you think he was injured?”

“Yeah. He looked terrible. He had a cut on his head and a bad burn on one of his hands. He looked like he’d been in a fire. He looked thin. God, I saw the scar. Geez, Cap. I had no idea.” Hutch could barely contain his concern.

“You going in the morning?”

“Hell no, I’m going now. Gonna go to the airport and get out there on the first thing I can catch. I’ll call you from Oklahoma City.”

Hutch hung up the phone and called for a taxi. While he waited, he called Diggs at home.

“Diggs, this is Hutchinson. I have a lead on Starsky and I’m moving on it tonight.”

“You need me to come and get you?” Diggs sounded encouraged by the news.

“No, thanks. I just called a taxi. I’m headed for Oklahoma City. If you hear anything else, please call Captain Dobey and let him know. I’ll be in touch.”

“I will. Good luck, Hutch.”

“Thanks for all your help, man. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you and Captain Hanks.” Hutch hung up and hobbled to the office to check out and wait for the cab. When it arrived Hutch climbed inside, lost in thoughts of the sheer luck of him seeing Starsky on that newscast. What if he hadn’t turned on the television? What if he had been in the bathroom when the story aired? What if…? He wished his partner were with him. Hutch knew how much Starsky enjoyed the “what if” game.

~*~*~*~

The truck had a sticker that clearly said “no riders” but when the driver, leaning against the running board smoking a joint, saw Starsky wearily dozing under a tree at the rest stop, he didn’t have the heart to leave him there.

“Hey, man.”

Starsky pried open his eyes and blinked up at the man, about his own age and wearing a fatigue jacket.

“Which way you goin’?”

Starsky shrugged. “Don’t matter.”

“I’m takin’ a load to St. Louis,” the driver said. “Give ya a lift?”

Starsky was suspicious. He hadn’t asked this man for a ride. “What makes you think I need a ride?”

The man grinned, offered the joint, which Starsky refused with a shake of his head, and said, “I been drivin’ a truck ever since I got home from ‘Nam. I know the signs. Been hitchin’, but ain’t had much luck, right?”

That was certainly the truth. Starsky had walked north on I-35 away from Oklahoma City after leaving the scene of the accident. He’d walked for miles, passing what he had cynically dubbed “Museum Row” — a lot of tourist traps like the Cowboy Hall of Fame and an amusement park called “Frontier City” — and no one had given him a ride. He’d lost track of the hours and the miles and when he’d seen a rest area, he was so exhausted that he’d stumbled this far and sunk down under this tree. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it was full dark. “Yeah, that’s about it.”

“My name’s Marvin,” the man went on, “but most people call me Bud. I’d be glad to take ya as far as I’m goin’. Gonna storm soon. Ya don’t wanna be out here in the open during an Oklahoma storm. Trust me.”

Starsky glanced upward and noticed the increasing wind and the dropping temperature. Even though Hutch’s jacket was warm, it wasn’t going to be enough if it got much colder. “Sure. I could use a ride.”

“Thought so.” Bud pinched the fire off the joint, produced a cigarette package cellophane, and dropped the roach in. He stuffed it back in his pocket and offered a hand up, which Starsky accepted, snagging the strap of his knapsack on the way up. “Whatcha want me to call you?”

Starsky couldn’t help grinning at the way Bud phrased that — ‘clearly he was used to meeting people who didn’t want their real identities known. “David.”

“Nice to meet ya.” Bud led the way back to his rig. “Sandwiches in the sack there, and sodas in the cooler,” he said as he put the truck in gear and started out of the rest area. “Help yourself.”

Starsky did, hungry for the first time in days, but one sandwich and half a can of Coke was enough to fill him up. Bud chattered a little about the coming storm, made a couple of remarks about the traffic in Tulsa, and finally subsided. They rode in comfortable silence for a while.

“You say you were in ‘Nam?” Starsky said after a while.

“Yeah.” Bud shook his head. “Hated it, too. ‘Spose everybody did. I was only 18 when they sent me over there, never been out of Shitty City before then. Scared me to death.”

“Shitty City?”

Bud grinned over at him. “What natives call OKC. I actually grew up in Moore, but it’s all the same thing. Moore, Edmond, The Village, Warr Acres, Bethany….”

“Where were you stationed in ‘Nam?”

“Different places. I was in the Tet Offensive.”

Starsky looked at him with a little more admiration. “Get hurt?”

“Took a shot in the leg. But a buddy stepped on a mine,” Bud said. “I figured I was lucky.”

“I was there, too,” Starsky said. “In ‘Nam, I mean. Changes a man.”

“Sure does,” Bud said. “See much action?”

“Too much.”

“Yeah, I know that feelin’,” Bud said.

The storm broke, but they drove out of it and even the part they did see convinced Starsky he wouldn’t have wanted to be in the open during it. He’d never seen such wind and rain before. He said so to Bud.

“Ain’t nothin’ to slow it down,” Bud said with another grin. “Too flat. Kansas sucks and Texas blows and that’s why it’s windy in Oklahoma.”

Starsky laughed out loud, the first time he’d done so for a very long time. They drove through Tulsa in the quiet of the wee hours and by the time sunrise was approaching, they were nearing Joplin, Missouri.

“Hungry?” Bud asked. “See that truck stop comin’ up? They got a restaurant there that serves the best omelette you ever had.”

“Sounds good,” Starsky said.

The restaurant was called The Iron Skillet, and Starsky was bemused by the “Americana” of it, as he would have said to Hutch once upon a time. It was also busy, so they sat at the counter, where a bubble-gum chewing waitress with bleached blonde hair and bright red lipstick called them both “hon” and served them, as Bud had promised, the best omelette Starsky had ever had, accompanied by hash browns with onions and melted cheese and a bottomless cup of coffee. The food came in miniature iron skillets instead of plates.

“What’d I tell ya?” Bud demanded, watching Starsky put his food away. He could see his companion hadn’t been eating right and guessed that this was the first real meal he’d had for a while.

“You were right,” Starsky said. “Best omelette I ever had.”

“There’s no place like truck stops for good breakfasts,” Bud said. He lit a cigarette while Starsky finished eating and joked with the waitress, whom he seemed to know.

Starsky finished his meal and wiped his mouth with the paper napkin, and as he reached for his coffee cup the waitress saw the burn on the palm of his left hand.

“Oh, hon, that must hurt like the dickens,” she said sympathetically. “Why don’t you let me get the first aid kit for you?”

“Naw, it’s nothin’,” Starsky said, though it did hurt “like the dickens.”

“Ain’t no trouble,” she said, turning to reach under the register for a small blue box. “I’m used to patchin’ up the boys.”

“Her sons,” Bud said to Starsky. “She’s got four.”

“Little hellions they are, too,” she said with a smile, producing antibiotic cream and a roll of gauze. She soon had him bandaged up and gave his hand a friendly pat when she finished. “What happened, hon?”

Starsky shrugged. “Picked up somethin’ hot.”

She smiled again. “I guess so!”

Starsky had been coughing intermittently ever since the wreck, but when he and Bud were back out on the road, it started to get so bad that he could hardly breathe in between bouts.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Bud asked, concerned, when this had gone on for about an hour.

“Yeah,” Starsky gasped, taking another drink out of the lukewarm Coke.

“Were you in a fire or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said. It was all he had time to say before the spasms shook him again.

“Look, there’s a hospital in the next town,” Bud said. “I think I’d better take you there. Somethin’s wrong.”

Starsky shook his head but couldn’t speak.

“Come on, man. Let me take you to the hospital. You musta breathed in some smoke or somethin’ in that fire.”

It was no use trying to argue when he couldn’t even talk. As they pulled into Springfield, Bud took the first exit and, in a few minutes, pulled the truck up outside a hospital. He came around to help Starsky out and up to the emergency room door. By now Starsky was coughing so hard he couldn’t even squeeze out a word.

“His name’s David,” Bud said to the nurse on the desk. “He was in a fire and now he’s coughing his ass off. I don’t know nothin’ else about him.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch hobbled through the Oklahoma City airport, his bag awkwardly slung over his shoulder, trying to squeeze through the crowd on his crutches. Most people got out of his way, but it didn’t make it much easier to get around. He did finally make it to the rental car desk and rented an automatic transmission Chevy. The attendant carried his bag for him and accompanied him to the car.

“Sure you can handle it, sir?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks.” Hutch tossed the bag into the back and eased himself into the driver’s seat. He had already looked up the address of “Eye Witness News” and looked at a map. He drove straight to the TV station and asked for Brad Derek.

“He’s out on assignment,” the receptionist said. “Do you have an appointment?”

Hutch showed her his badge. “I’m looking for a missing person and I saw Derek interviewing him on your show last night.”

Her eyes widened and she picked up the phone. “Just a minute, please.” She called the news director and relayed Hutch’s message, and in a few moments, a harried-looking man with a loose tie came out.

“Gary Churchill,” he said to Hutch. “What’s this about a missing person?”

Hutch explained as quickly as he could and showed Churchill the photograph of Starsky. “I saw your reporter interviewing this man at the scene of a highway accident on the news last night,” he said. “I have to talk to that reporter.”

“I know Brad didn’t get his name,” Churchill said, “but I can show you the tape. We didn’t show all of it on the broadcast, of course. We edited it. But we still have the uncut version. Would that help?”

He led Hutch to the editing room and shuffled through tapes until he found the right one. Hutch watched as the camera panned over the scene of the wreckage — ‘the overturned truck, the cars smashed into it and each other, the glass and the blood and the smoke from the burning station wagon. The camera had caught just a few moments of Starsky running from the burning car with a little girl in his arms. “Wait. That’s him.”

The director froze the frame. “Your missing person?”

“My missing partner,” Hutch said.

“Brad and Tom — ‘the cameraman — ‘saw him saving that child and tried to interview him, but he wouldn’t cooperate,” the news director said, a little tartly.

Hutch suppressed his reaction. In his experience, he’d found that reporters and TV news people thought first of the story, and second of the human feelings behind the story. He supposed they had to, like cops had to be able to shake off the pain and ugliness they saw every day, too. But it didn’t make it any easier to take when you were the one whose pain they saw as “a story.”

Churchill started the tape again, and Hutch watched the rest, including the portion where Starsky shook off the reporter and walked away. “Where was this?” he asked the news director.

“I-40 and I-35,” Churchill said. “The police said the truck was trying to merge and lost control. They think the driver fell asleep at the wheel.” He shook his head. “The man’s dead or he’d be in a whole lot of trouble.”

“Which one is that?” Hutch asked, indicating the figure of Starsky walking over the grassy expanse that separated the two highways and hiking up a hill to walk away on the second highway.

“That one’s I-35. He’s headed north.”

“How do I get there?”

Damn, he could be anywhere by now, Hutch thought as he drove up I-35 from the interchange at I-40. This section of the highway was choked with tourist attractions but not much else. The amusement park on the west side of the highway was doing a brisk business by the look of the rides Hutch could see. But it was still a long, lonely stretch, and Hutch worried that Starsky had had to walk a long way. He stopped at every exit, hoping to see a place where a man could stop and rest, but there was nothing. By the time he reached a rest area, it was afternoon.

He parked the Chevy and got out to go to the restroom, finding it difficult to extricate himself and the crutches from the car without assistance. He was breathless by the time he reached the building and spared a moment to feel sympathy for people who had to get around on crutches all their lives. It must be hell.

When he came out, he leaned against a tree for a moment to catch his breath before heading back to the car. And there at his feet, almost buried in the grass and loose leaves, he saw something white. It wasn’t easy to reach down that far with the cast in his way, but he finally managed to snag the piece of paper and stand up. It was a list. In his own handwriting. A list of “things to do” which had been in the pocket of his varsity jacket the last time he’d worn it — ‘the day before Terrel had kidnapped him.

See lawyer

Get gas

Feed rhododendron plant

The words blurred in front of Hutch’s eyes as he looked at them. There was only one way this list could have gotten here. It must have fallen out of the jacket pocket, the jacket Starsky was still wearing, and that meant that Starsky must have been here.

Thanks, Hutch prayed silently.

By the looks of the sidewalk and grass, it had rained hard here last night, but the note had been saved by being under the tree and half buried under leaves. It was damp and crumpled, but it was here. And Starsky had been here. And based on the time of the highway wreck the news crew had filmed, he had to have been here in the last 24 hours, maybe even less than that.

Hutch got back to the car as fast as his crutches would allow and sped north on I-35. He was close. He knew it.

~*~*~*~

Starsky spent a miserable day and night in the Springfield hospital, but was finally feeling better by the next morning. Bud had come in to see him after he was admitted and apologized for having to leave him there.

“I gotta be in St. Louis by tonight,” Bud had said. “Wish I could hang around and take ya the rest of the way.”

“No, man, you go on. Don’t worry about it,” Starsky’d said. “I appreciate all you’ve done.”

Bud had patted his shoulder warmly and left with a wave.

But that left Starsky alone here, in a town that wasn’t that big in the middle of a state he didn’t really want to be in. Not that he wanted to be anywhere, if the truth was known. When morning came and the doctor said he could go “home,” Starsky merely nodded and listened to the instructions the doctor gave him, meekly took the prescription the doctor handed him, and made his way to the window to pay for it all.

The total appalled him and was far more than he had in cash. And since the kids in El Paso had taken his credit card, he had a problem.

Then he remembered the accounts back in Bay City, the money Hutch had left for him that he hadn’t wanted and had tried to give back to Hutch’s parents. “I need to use a telephone,” he said to the nurse. She waved him to a pay phone on the wall and Starsky called Hutch’s attorney.

“This is David Starsky,” he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue after having avoided his real name for — ‘well, he’d lost track of how long. “I need to arrange to have a cashier’s check sent to Springfield Memorial Hospital in Springfield, Missouri to pay a hospital bill.”

The attorney’s receptionist took the information he gave her without asking any questions. That was a relief. He hung up, went back to the receptionist and explained.

Back in Bay City, the receptionist typed up the information and took it into the attorney for his signature. His eyes almost popped out of his head when he looked at it.

“Is he still on the phone?” he demanded, almost angrily.

“No, sir. He hung up.”

“Every cop from here to Texas is looking for this guy!” he snapped at her. “He’s been missing for weeks! Why didn’t you find out where he was?”

She recoiled a little. “I didn’t know….”

The attorney ignored her and picked up the phone. “Captain Dobey, please. It’s urgent.”

~*~*~*~

Hutch knew it was slowing him down, but he stopped at rest stops and restaurants along the interstate to show Starsky’s photo to people and ask if anyone had seen him. By the time he reached Joplin, Missouri, he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept for over 48 hours. He’d hardly eaten for longer than that. And though he thought he was on the right track, his guts were in knots worrying that he wasn’t. There were a lot of small towns and other roads between Joplin and Oklahoma City. Starsky could have gone to Kansas. He could have gone east or west or dropped off the face of the planet for all Hutch knew.

God, buddy, why are you running? What if I never find you?

It was about the biggest truck stop Hutch had ever seen, and he thought it would probably take him hours to work his way through it showing the now dog-eared photograph to every employee. He had to try, though. He sank into a seat at the counter of the restaurant and wearily accepted the cup of coffee the waitress set in front of him.

“Need somethin’ to eat, hon?”

“Yeah, why not,” Hutch said. He pulled the photo out of his pocket. “I’m looking for somebody. Have you seen this guy?”

She took the photo and studied it. “Why, sure, hon. He was in here yesterday mornin’, real early.”

Hutch’s exhaustion vanished in an instant. “Alone?”

“No, he was with Bud Reid, one of our regulars. Well, as regular as a place like this gets. Bud comes through about once a week or so on his run.”

“A trucker?”

She nodded.

“How did he look? Where were they going?”

She studied him for a moment. “Why d’you wanna know?”

Hutch realized that a lot of people probably came through here who didn’t want to be found and she was probably used to keeping quiet about it. He consciously forced himself to calm down and reached into another pocket for a different photograph, one he’d brought only for himself. In this one, Starsky and Hutch were together, arms around each other’s shoulders, laughing. He looked at it longingly for a moment, then handed it to the waitress. “He’s my friend. He’s missing. I’m trying to find him.”

She took the photo and examined it, then raised her eyes to look at Hutch. The expression in them was softer now. “Bud’s run is usually Oklahoma City to St. Louis. Sometimes he goes to Chicago or Indianapolis. The quickest way is I-44 and I’m sure that’s the way he uses. I’ve heard him say so. But by now, he’s probably been to St. Louis and is on his way back, unless he had a layover somewhere.”

“What about Starsky?” Hutch asked. “How did he look?”

She considered. “Tired. Sick. He was coughing a lot. Pale. He had a bad burn on his hand.”

Hutch bit his lip. “How did he act?”

She shook her head. “I see a lotta heartache workin’ here.”

Hutch went to the pay phone and called Dobey.

“Hutch! It’s about time you called in!”

Hutch winced at both the volume and the tone. It didn’t sound like good news. “You got something?”

“Yeah. Starsky called your attorney two hours ago and asked for a cashier’s check to be sent to a hospital in Springfield, Missouri,” Dobey said. “At least, we assume it was Starsky. He talked to the receptionist, who didn’t know we’re looking for him. She’s a temp, filling in for the regular girl.”

“Dammit!” Hutch slammed his fist into the wall next to the phone. “Which hospital?”

“It’s called Springfield Memorial,” Dobey said. “They won’t tell us why he’s there or what he’s being treated for. In fact, they won’t even tell us if he’s still there. We’ve got a call in to the Missouri State Police — ‘Hutch?”

The phone dangled from its cord where Hutch had left it when he heard the name of the hospital.

The waitress was coming out with a sandwich for Hutch when she saw him hobbling out the door as fast as he could on the crutches. She grabbed a paper bag and dashed out the door after him shoving the food into the bag. Catching up to him at the car she said, “Here, honey, take this sandwich at least.”

Hutch was just struggling into the car when he saw her. “No time, but thanks.”

“Wait a minute. You don’t look in that much better shape than your buddy. Take it, okay?” She held the bag out for him. Hutch sighed, but he smiled up at her anyway as he reached for his wallet.

“Keep it. On the house. Find your friend, okay?” She felt terrible for both men. As the mother of four sons, she knew how the missing man’s own mother must be worried.

“Thanks.” Hutch closed the door to the car and she watched him pull out of the parking lot, saying a silent prayer that he would find his friend unharmed. He hadn’t looked good at all when he was in the truck stop.

Hutch headed for Springfield, hoping the hospital would be visible from the Interstate when he got there. For once, he was in luck. He saw the sign for the hospital off the first Springfield exit. He pulled the car off the highway and headed for the Emergency Room parking lot.

The Emergency Room receptionist looked up at him when he spoke. She thought he must be checking himself in since he looked pretty rough, dark circles under his eyes, pale, and he was holding himself up on crutches.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked as she held out a form for him to fill out while she talked to him.

Hutch stared at the form and clipboard blankly. “Oh, I’m not here to check in. I’m looking for a patient.”

“Oh.” She retrieved the clipboard. “You family?”

“Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate. Starsky and Hutch were more family to each other than many people related by blood.

“Patient’s name?” Hutch couldn’t help thinking this woman was all business. He might have a hard time getting any information from her.

“David Starsky. Oh, he might have checked in as David Banner.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh, a mystery man. Well, which is it?”

Hutch was getting annoyed. He was worried and he needed to know if Starsky was badly hurt. “Look, I already told you. Could be either, will you just look?”

“Keep your shirt on!” She started looking through the log and she found it. “Yep, David Banner. Checked in yesterday.”

“Is he still here?” Hutch was afraid to hope.

 

“I can’t tell from this, gimme a minute.” She picked up the phone and called another department. Hutch could barely contain himself. Finally, she hung up and said, “Nope. Checked out this morning.”

“Damn!” He said, drawing the attentive stares of a few mothers waiting with kids in various stages of injury or illness.

“I need to talk to his doctor.” He tried to calm down, breathing slowly to regain some balance. “Please, it’s that important.”

The woman behind the desk scrutinized him. Deciding he seemed sincere enough, she offered to find the doctor if the blond would please just take a seat. He reluctantly complied and waited an agonizing half an hour for the man to finish with his current patient and come out to talk to him. Every minute that ticked by was another minute Starsky was on the road alone and moving ever farther from him.

The doctor came out and sat next to Hutch. He had no trouble spotting the man the receptionist had described as tall, blond, handsome, on crutches, and looking decidedly freaked.

They shook hands. “I’m Doctor Bradford. Are you David Banner’s family? You don’t look like you are.” He had no intention of giving out confidential information to anyone other than the man’s next-of-kin.

“I know, Doc. We’re best friends.” He pulled out his identification, flashing his badge. Then he pulled out Starsky’s Power-of-Attorney to show he was listed as next-of-kin. He had fought this battle with doctors too many times to be unprepared. Doctors usually had lips sealed tighter than a cold war spy.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with him? Why was he here?” Hutch asked.

“Wait a minute. Has he done something wrong?” The doctor still wasn’t ready to be interrogated, even if Hutch did have a piece of legal paper with him. The names didn’t even match. “My patient said his name was Banner, not Starsky.”

Hutch showed the photos to the doctor and explained. “Doc, it’s a really long story. He hasn’t done anything wrong, but he’s sick and hurt. He’s been missing for a while now and I have to find him. Please. I need you to tell me everything you observed and all about the treatment you gave him.”

The doctor nodded, deciding the blond seemed to be telling the truth. “David has a lot of problems. He was brought in suffering from smoke inhalation and some serious burns to his hands. We gave him some breathing treatments and looked after the burns. He also recently slashed his wrists, though he swore he didn’t do it himself.”

Hutch interrupted briefly. “He didn’t. We’re cops. Someone did that to him in an attempt on his life. Fortunately, he failed.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. I had contemplated admitting him to psychiatry services, but he convinced me he was all right. At least, I didn’t think he was a danger to himself.”

Hutch breathed deeply at that remark. He hoped the doctor was right. If the doctor had admitted Starsky for psychiatric evaluation, though, he might still be there. That was unfortunate.

The man continued. “The left hand seemed in pretty good shape. He can almost make a fist with it, but the burn didn’t help. We checked out his injured right hand. That seemed to be doing all right, too. He has some feeling in it, but it isn’t healing as well as it should be. David looked like he hasn’t been taking care of himself. We insisted he stay the night and the only reason he didn’t bolt out of here is because he was too weak to fight us. We got some fluids and a little food in him. I’d say he’s fifteen pounds underweight. I gave him some pain medication and an antibiotic. He had a low-grade fever and I think he has a mild infection going. The medication should help if he takes it. He checked himself out this morning.”

Hutch was glad Starsky had received some treatment. “Should he have stayed, Doc?”

“Yes, he should have. He was near collapse when he arrived here. I’m afraid that infection may become worse, especially with his hands being burned and the damage to his lungs. If he doesn’t keep his burns clean, eat, and get some rest, he’s going to be a very sick man.”

Hutch’s chest tightened again. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Not really. I told him he has to start eating and he made a wisecrack about where he could get a ballpark hot dog. I suggested Chicago. He took his instructions from me and left. I’m sorry I can’t tell you where he really went.”

Hutch rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. His nerves were raw, and he was nearly dropping from exhaustion himself. He thanked Dr. Bradford.

“Mr. Hutchinson, you’re not looking well yourself. Are you all right?” The doctor could see how tired Hutch was.

“Yeah. Finding Starsky will fix whatever’s wrong with me.” He shook the doctor’s hand and pulled himself up on the crutches.

“I suggest you go get some sleep before you take off after him. You’re going to fall over if you don’t.”

Hutch smiled appreciatively and made his way back out to the rented Chevy. When he tried to pull out onto the road, he noticed that the lines on the street were splitting off into pairs and the road signs had become twins. As much as he hated it, he knew he had to pull off and crash for a few hours before he really crashed the Chevy. He turned around and returned to the hospital parking lot. As he moved north through the country, the temperature had dropped, so sleeping in the car was out of the question. Hutch didn’t want to take the time to find a hotel. His heart was heavy with the thought of Starsky out in the cold with nothing but his varsity jacket for warmth. He hobbled back up to the receptionist.

“I’m sorry to bother you again. I’m pretty beat. If it’s okay, I’m just gonna crash in your waiting room for a couple of hours, then I’ll be out of your hair. Okay?”

She nodded, but as soon as he was out of earshot she called Dr. Bradford. A few minutes later, Hutch felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Hutchinson, come with me. We’re not that busy tonight. You can lie down in the back. That’s got to be more comfortable than in these torture-chamber rejects from the 60’s the hospital calls chairs.” He smiled warmly.

“Thanks, Doc.” Hutch took no convincing. He barely had enough energy to hobble back to where Dr. Bradford led him. “Could you make sure somebody gets me up in two or three hours? I’m so tired I’m afraid I’ll slide into a coma. Every minute I’m here he’s still out there.”

The doctor agreed. He turned off the light and closed the door as Hutch fell immediately into a deep sleep.

~*~*~*~

Starsky had some trouble catching a ride again. He walked along the highway for a few hours before being picked up by a man in an oxidized red AMC Pacer. Starsky thought it was the ugliest car he’d ever seen. This time his benefactor was a young man on his way back to school from a weekend at his parents’ house. He hadn’t been overly talkative, for which Starsky was grateful. He told the kid he wanted to listen to some jazz and wondered if he knew a good place in St. Louis. He was dropped off at a place called The Blue Note. That sounded appropriate to his mood.

Starsky wearily shouldered his knapsack and cruised into the smoky lounge. He found a small, unoccupied booth in the back and ordered a beer. Tonight, in addition to the regular jazz band, a blues singer was performing. She looked like a typical chanteuse with long, dyed red hair, redder lips and nails, and a silver sequined dress. Her singing was passable.

This bar was still a far cry from classy, but a large step up from the similarly named Blue Diamond in Oklahoma City. Tonight, he was not going to interfere with anyone, though. He just wanted to listen to some sad music, and then find a place to crawl off and sleep.

He sat nursing the beer for a long time, lost in thoughts of his old life. Feeling like he was in one of his cowboy movies, he felt a tear slip down his face and chuckled to himself. Great. Sitting alone in a bar, crying in my beer. What would Hutch say?

Starsky still wished he could stop thinking of his best friend in present terms. Maybe it would hurt less if he could think “what would Hutch have said,” but he thought he might never be able to do that. He reached into his knapsack, bypassing the forgotten bottles of medication, and pulled out the poetry book. He thought about taking at least the antibiotic but changed his mind. The waitress offered him a second beer, which he accepted, along with requesting that she bring him a couple of shots of tequila. As long as he was crying in his beer, he was going to get plowed.

When he’d been there about an hour, a sleazy looking woman sidled into the other seat in his booth. He looked up, somewhat bleary-eyed from the alcohol. “What do you want?” Even semi-plastered, he knew a hooker when he saw one.

“You look lonely, mister. Can I interest you in some company?” Her voice was raspy from smoking.

He shook his head in disbelief. Starsky was beginning to wonder if a neon sign constantly blinked over him reading, “derelicts, criminals, and other scum — ‘here’s your man.” Did he look like an easy mark? He thought that was a stupid question. Of course he did.

“I can’t afford ya, honey, now beat it,” he growled at her, returning his gaze to the page he’d been reading when he was interrupted.

“How do you know, you ain’t asked how much,” came the saucy reply.

“I told ya, I ain’t interested, now blow.”

“That can be arranged.” She just wasn’t getting the hint. He sighed and closed the book. “Look, I just want to be left alone. I’m not interested. Gimme a break and scram, huh?”

The hooker looked disappointed but she hated to lose a sale. Maybe he would be more interested in one of her associates. “Oh, I get it. You swing the other way? That can be arranged.”

That was the final straw. Even in his present state, Starsky was fully capable of putting out a look that clearly transmitted, “Do you WANT to die?” without his having to speak a word. The woman cowered under that look and quickly exited the booth.

Starsky spent hours in the bar, listening to the performers and drowning his sorrows. When he thought he was just about drunk enough to be cut off and asked to leave, he gathered his things and staggered out the back door to the alley behind the bar. He wondered about that. Why did bars always seem to have alleys in the back?

Looking up and down the dark scene, he spotted a homeless man shuffling over to the side of a dumpster and pulling some cardboard over himself. He wandered over to the other side of the dumpster and found it vacant. Starsky looked up at the patch of night sky he could see between the buildings. Hoping Hutch wasn’t watching him from heaven, he abandoned his resolve not to sleep on the streets. His money was just about gone, his credit card had been stolen, and he refused to call anyone who could help him. So much had happened to him, Starsky just didn’t care anymore. He curled up on the ground next to the dumpster, putting his head on the lumpy knapsack and pulling Hutch’s jacket as close around him as he could. The night was cold and a light rain had started to fall. He thought again about taking the antibiotic but decided he wouldn’t. His fever was higher, and he didn’t care about that either. Then he thought about the pain pills. With all the alcohol he had consumed, a handful of those ought to finish him off easily. The thought passed quickly. Sleeping in alleyways was dangerous enough. He could get rolled again, or worse. As he drifted into a fitful sleep he couldn’t help hoping if anyone attacked him there, they’d do him a favor and kill him.

 

Part IV of IV

Three hours after he fell asleep, Dr. Bradford woke Hutch as gently as he could. Hutch sat up with a start, not knowing where he was for a minute. Dr. Bradford helped him up and then walked over to turn on the light. Hutch rubbed his eyes. He felt like he’d been on a non-stop stakeout for days.

“Here,” Dr. Bradford said, “at least drink this juice before you leave. I wish you’d sleep a little longer.”

“Thanks. No, I’m okay now. I’m used to going without a lot of sleep. I appreciate you letting me crash here. I’ll hit the road in a few minutes.”

Dr. Bradford sighed in resignation. He thought the blond looked a little better than he had a few hours ago. “Drive carefully then. Try to sleep some more. You need rest yourself if you’re going to finish healing.” Beyond the obvious broken leg, the man had been a doctor too long not to recognize the signs of someone healing from recent injuries or illness.

Hutch stopped at a bank of pay phones before he left the hospital. He felt terrible that he had forgotten to report back to Captain Dobey. Knowing he would get an earful, he decided to call Huggy instead.

When his friend answered he said, “Huggy, Hutch.”

“Are you in Springfield? Dobey called me hoppin’ mad that you hadn’t checked in again.”

“Yeah, I know. I was so tired I forgot to call him. Frankly, I can’t take anyone yelling at me today. I feel bad enough.”

“No news, I take it.” Huggy sounded as disappointed as Hutch had been.

“He was here. They let him go though. Had to, I guess. Doc says he’s still in bad shape. I hadn’t slept in two days so I crashed here for a few hours. I’m hittin’ it now, though.”

“Where you headed?”

“The doc said he was maybe on his way to Chicago. God, Hug, I’m so tired and I just keep missing him. He’s hurt and he’s sick enough now to where the doc gave him antibiotics. What if I don’t find him in time? I’d never forgive myself.”

Huggy could hear the heartbreak in his friend’s voice. This was certainly the biggest mess his two mess-prone friends had ever been in together. He made a decision. “I’m coming to Chicago to meet you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Hug. I need you there.” Hutch appreciated the offer, but he knew Huggy would be more valuable working his contacts in Bay City and sticking around in case Starsky decided to call.

“Hutch, my leads have all dried up here. There ain’t nobody else I can hit up. You need help and someone to lean on out there. I’m comin’ and that’s it.” Huggy sounded adamant.

“Huggy, I appreciate it, really. If you come out here, though, what happens if he calls? He might break down and call you and if you aren’t there, he’d just hang up and keep moving. I can’t take that chance. We can’t. Please.” Hutch hated to refuse the offer. He would have been grateful for the company.

Huggy had to concede defeat. “Okay. I guess you have a point. I don’t like you out there doin’ this all by your lonesome. You takin’ care of you at all?” He already knew the answer to that.

“I’m staying off the leg, Hug. I’m trying.” Hutch hoped his words would reassure Huggy a little.

“I’ll call the captain and let him know. You change your mind, call the Bear.”

“Thanks, I will. I’ll call again from Chicago anyway.” Hutch hung up and went back out to restart his search. The weather had turned colder and a little wet. He wished to himself that if Starsky was planning on doing a walkabout, he had done it in warmer, dryer weather.

~*~*~*~

Starsky woke up the next morning, sicker, stiffer, and feeling the need to get on the move. Adding to his already miserable condition, now he had a hangover. He walked down the streets until he spotted a Laundromat. Although he had finally resorted to sleeping on the street, he at least thought he could clean his clothes. Digging around in his knapsack, he found he had just enough money left to wash his things and buy a cup of terrible coffee from the machine on the wall. Maybe his head would feel better by the time the clothes were done. After he bought the coffee, he discovered he had two dollars and thirty-three cents left. He decided to worry about that later. When the clothes were done, he cleaned up as best he could in the Laundromat bathroom and headed out again.

He still didn’t know where he would stop for good. In his heart, he hoped he could just keep going until he dropped. He hitched another ride over to Interstate 55, the highway leading to Chicago. Starsky didn’t know anyone in Chicago and he really wanted to see the water. He missed it. Even though this waterfront wouldn’t have the waves he and Hutch both loved, he hoped it might make him feel a little better to be near it. Maybe he’d even stay in Chicago for a while. He’d think about it. So far, he thought no one was looking for him — ‘at least not successfully. Maybe he could risk staying in one place for a while. Surely Huggy and Dobey would give up eventually.

When he reached the Windy City, the trucker who had given him a lift dropped him off at a park near a marina. Starsky was really feeling bad again. He was coughing, his fever was climbing, and he hadn’t eaten anything for two days. Walking along the waterfront, he realized he would have to rest awhile. He spotted a park bench. Lying down on the bench, he dozed in the morning sun.

“Excuse me, mister?” A young female voice was speaking to him. He opened one eye, blinking at the sun and found a young lady standing next to his bench. He sat up and took a better look at her. She was about nineteen, had long, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and she was dressed a little like a flower child.

He changed his mind about the harsh thing he had planned to say to the person who had disturbed him. She just looked too nice, too innocent. “Can I help you with something?” He really wasn’t in the mood to help anyone.

“Have you heard the word of God today?” She smiled at him. That’s when he noticed the Bible in her hand.

Deciding that now would be a good time to get moving, he stood up — ‘a little too quickly. The fever and exhaustion took over, darkness crowding into his vision. Starsky passed out at her feet.

~*~*~*~

Hutch’s vision was playing tricks on him again by the time he reached the outskirts of St. Louis and he was afraid to try to keep driving. He saw a motel sign at the next exit and took it. He hated to stop, but he sure wouldn’t find Starsky if he wrecked the car and himself somewhere along the way.

The room smelled musty and he saw a cockroach in the bathroom when he went in there to use it, but he was past caring. All he needed was a place to sleep for a while. He dropped his bag on a chair and flopped onto the bed, reaching for the phone. He didn’t even know what day it was anymore.

“Cap’n? Hutch.”

If Dobey had intended to roar and rage, he thought better of it when he heard the weariness in Hutch’s voice. Instead, he simply said, “Got any news?”

“No. I’m in St. Louis. Had to stop for a little sleep.”

“We’ve alerted the Illinois State Police and the Chicago police to be on the lookout for him,” Dobey said. “Hitch hiking’s illegal in Illinois, so they might pick him up for that. If they do — we gave them a description and the name ‘David Banner’ — they’re supposed to call us. I just hope they do. If he sticks to the interstates, it’s the state police who would find him.”

Hutch nodded. His eyes had grown so heavy he didn’t have the strength to answer.

“Hutch, take care of yourself, okay? Hutch?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He replaced the receiver without saying “good-bye” and turned over. In moments, he was asleep.

~*~*~*~

Starsky awoke to the sounds of a guitar and several voices singing softly together. It was a pretty song, and Starsky hadn’t heard a pretty song for a while, so he lay there and listened.

“It only takes a spark to get a fire going

And soon all those around can warm up in its glowing

That’s how it is with God’s love

Once you’ve experienced it

You spread his love to everyone

You want to pass it on….”

He looked around the room. Spartan in its simplicity, it was nevertheless clean and bright. White-painted walls, a plain wooden cross above a four-drawer dresser, a desk and chair, and another cot on the other side of the room, made up in military style. Where on earth was he? The last thing he remembered was the girl who’d wanted him to “hear the word of God.”

The door was open to the hallway and a teenage boy passed by and glanced in. When he saw Starsky was awake, he stopped and smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Starsky said. “Where am I?”

“Chicago.”

Terrific. I knew that. “I mean, where in Chicago?”

“This is the headquarters for the Jesus People,” the boy said, coming in and sitting down on the other cot. “I’m Matt.”

“David.” Starsky started to sit up, but Matt held up a hand.

“No, you stay there. Jenny said you collapsed downtown. It’s a good thing some of the others were nearby. They came back for the van and brought you back here. Are you hungry or thirsty? I can get you something from the kitchen.”

“I guess I could use something to drink.”

Matt nodded. “Be right back.” When he returned with a tray, it contained orange juice, a couple of sandwiches, and a chocolate cupcake. “Supper’s not for a couple of hours yet,” Matt said apologetically, “so this is all I could find. Will it hold you till then?”

“Yeah, this is terrific. Thanks.” Starsky sat up and took the tray. Matt sat silently, chin in hands, while he ate, and when he had finished, he took the tray away. Starsky still heard the music and he asked Matt what it was.

“Oh, someone’s always singing around here,” Matt said with a smile.

Starsky lay back and looked around the room. There was a disturbing quality about it, in spite of its cleanliness, that he couldn’t put his finger on. Who were the Jesus People, anyway? Sounded like — ‘no, not another bunch like Marcus’ crowd. Please, God, no.

The girl from the park poked her head in the room and smiled at both of them. “I see you’re feeling better,” she said. “Is Matt keeping you company?”

“Yeah. What am I doing here? What happened?”

“A group of us were witnessing down by the lake,” she said with no appearance of guile, “and I came over to talk to you. You looked lonely and in need of a friend. But then you stood up and just collapsed. So, I called Peter and Kevin and the others over, and someone came back here and got the van, and we brought you home with us. You’ve been out for — ” she leaned over to glance at his watch, ” — almost a whole day.”

Terrific. Starsky sagged back onto the cot.

“We were very worried,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “We’ve had a group praying for you ever since we brought you here. How do you feel now?”

“Better,” he said, and coughed.

“Matt, go get some cough syrup from Deena,” Jenny told the boy, who nodded and left the room. She turned back to Starsky and smiled. “Will you tell me your name?”

“David.”

“I like that name. It was my brother’s name,” she said.

“Was?”

“He died. In the war. I was very angry at God about that for a long time, but then I met the Jesus People and found peace,” she said.

A little chill ran down Starsky’s back. There it was again. That uncanny, too-complacent acceptance that Starsky associated with Marcus’ freaks. But he was not a prisoner here. They’d brought him here, cleaned him up, he just realized, and fed him and taken care of him. Maybe he had nothing to fear.

“Do you know Jesus?” she asked next, in the same tone she might have asked about a possible mutual friend.

Starsky considered his answer. It was quite possible these people were just a harmless commune and not a crazy cult. Finally, he said, “I’m Jewish. I know of him.”

She smiled, delighted. “Jewish! You’re one of the chosen people. We’ve been studying Judaism in our Bible class and it fascinates me. May I ask you some questions? Are you up to it?”

Matt returned with an over-the-counter bottle of cough syrup and Jenny accepted it from him with a smile and a “thank you,” then poured a little into a spoon and offered it to Starsky. He accepted it and the glass of water she gave him. It did soothe his cough somewhat.

“I may not know the answers,” he answered her question, “but you can ask, if you want.”

For about half an hour, she asked him to explain Yom Kippur and Passover and the rituals associated with them, and he found himself liking her. But he’d also liked Gail. He didn’t want to go there again. Matt listened in silence, occasionally asking a question of his own. Several young adults and some teenagers passed by in the hallway while they were talking, and all of them smiled and greeted him. A couple of them paused in the doorway and listened for a few minutes. The soft guitar music and singing continued to float down the hallway from wherever the musicians were practicing, and Starsky felt a sense of peace and acceptance he hadn’t had for weeks.

At last, Jenny seemed satisfied. “Now, you need to rest,” she said. “You haven’t had a good rest for quite a while, I think. We’ll bring your supper when it’s ready. Sleep now. You’re safe here.” She patted his arm and rose to go but turned back at the door. “Oh, dear,” she said, distressed. “You’re Jewish and we’re having ham for supper.”

Starsky grinned. “It’s okay. I don’t keep kosher usually. Only when my mom’s visiting.”

Jenny returned the grin and giggled. “We could make you a hamburger or something.”

“No, honest. I don’t mind.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” She lifted a hand in farewell and left, taking the boy with her.

~*~*~*~

Hutch slept for almost ten hours, and when he awoke, although he was distressed at how much time he’d lost, he felt much better. He cautiously tried to stand on the walking cast and though it hurt, he thought it would be easier to move around if he could use that leg a little. He washed up, grimacing at the filthy bathroom, and went to the desk to pay his bill. While he was waiting for the clerk to tally it up, he let his eyes wander and saw the flyer on the bulletin board by the door.

“Missing” it said in bold letters at the top and below was a photograph of Starsky. He was stunned. Dobey had said they’d been in touch with the Missouri state cops. They must have done this. If Starsky saw one of these, he’d run so far they’d never find him.

“How long has this been here?” he asked the clerk.

She looked up and frowned at the poster. “I don’t know. A day or two, I guess. Why?”

“I know him,” Hutch said. “I’m looking for him.”

“I haven’t seen him,” she said, and Hutch believed her. This was the kind of motel where it didn’t pay for the clerks to notice very much.

He paid the bill and used the pay phone to call Dobey again. He told him about the flyer. “You know what’ll happen if Starsky sees one of those?” he demanded.

Dobey sighed. “Hutch, you’re not Superman. We need the help. Maybe somebody’ll call and give us a direction to look in.” He was silent for a moment. “Huggy said you wouldn’t let him come out and join you.”

“No. I need him to stay there. If Starsk decides to call, that’s who he’ll contact. Huggy’s gotta be there to take that call, Captain.”

“Okay, okay. How about one of the other detectives? Sean or Jack — ‘”

“No. I’ll find him.” Or die trying, he added silently.

~*~*~*~*

In a rest stop in Rolla, Missouri, Bud Reid was rolling himself a joint at a picnic table when he noticed the flyer on a nearby bulletin board. Something about the photo caught his eye, and he abandoned his task to walk over there and look at it. He was used to “missing child” flyers posted at such places, but he’d never seen one for an adult before. He studied the photo. Without the beard and with about 20 more pounds, that could be — ‘no, it WAS — ‘David, the man he’d dropped off at the hospital in Springfield. Should he call? Bud considered it. The man hadn’t seemed to be running from the law. He didn’t have that kind of desperation about him. It was more as if he was running from himself.

Bud made up his mind.

~*~*~*~*

Hutch hadn’t noticed he needed to stop for gas when he crossed the Mississippi River, but something made him glance down some time later and he saw a warning light on the dash. Uh-oh. The highway was pretty lonesome here, and he couldn’t see a town across the corn and soybean fields for a long way. All he could do was keep driving and hope something popped up.

The flatness of the landscape was deceiving, and he realized the land rolled so gently that it only seemed flat when he crested a slight hill and saw a town. The exit sign said “Litchfield” and promised gas, food and motels. Hutch gave a sigh of relief. He pulled up at the Marathon there and filled up the tank. He looked at his wristwatch. It was late afternoon, time to check in with Dobey again.

“Anything?” he asked wearily.

“A trucker called the Missouri state cops and said he gave Starsky a ride from just north of Oklahoma City to Springfield, Missouri,” Dobey said. “He’s the guy who dropped Starsky off at that hospital, and he apparently told the state cops that he had to argue with him to get him to agree to that.”

“That was Starsky,” Hutch said with a ghost of a smile.

“He said Starsky had a beard and had lost weight since the photo on the flyer, but he’s carrying a knapsack and wearing your jacket,” Dobey went on. “Other than the injuries we already know about, he didn’t seem to be hurt.”

“That’s good news,” Hutch said, devoutly hoping that nothing more had happened since then.

“But he didn’t know where Starsky could be headed. He said he told him he didn’t care where he went.” Dobey added this last very gently.

Hutch winced. That was what he was afraid of. Starsky wandering aimlessly, with no destination, running out of money, not caring what happened to him.

“Hutch?”

“I’m here,” he said. “I’m in a town called Litchfield in Illinois, off I-55. I’m going to go ahead and head for Chicago. I don’t know what else to do.”

“We’ve alerted the Illinois State Police,” Dobey said. “They have a post in Springfield, less than 100 miles north of you. It’s right off I-55. Stop there and check in. That’s an order. I want them to know you’re there. They’ve agreed to extend professional courtesy to you.”

“In other words, I won’t get tossed in jail for carrying a concealed weapon?” Hutch inquired dryly.

“That’s right, Hutchinson. Don’t get cute. Check in with them.”

“Okay, Cap’n. I will.”

The state police district headquarters was, indeed, right off the interstate, with its own exit, and Hutch pulled into the parking lot an hour later. He got out and went in, pulling his badge out of his pocket and identifying himself to the officer at the front desk. In a few moments, a plainclothes officer appeared.

“Jerry Duncan,” the man said, offering his hand. Hutch shook it. “We’re doing everything we can to find your partner,” Duncan went on. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything to report right now, but all the patrol officers on the roads have been alerted.”

There was something oddly comforting to Hutch being in a police headquarters with other officers who really understood what it was like for your partner to be missing. Duncan got some bad coffee for Hutch, offered him a sandwich, and let him use the phone to check in with Dobey.

Dobey had nothing new to tell him and Hutch hung up with a heavy heart. “I don’t even know if I’m on the right track now,” he said to Duncan, who was still nearby. “The last place I was sure of was Springfield, Missouri.”

“I think we can be sure of more than that,” Duncan said. “I don’t know it for sure, but a hooker got picked up on Laclede’s Landing in St. Louis last night and when they booked her, she saw one of those flyers they’ve been putting up. She said she saw him, too, in a bar on the riverfront. A hooker’s word ain’t much to go on, but she said she’d propositioned him and he damn near took her head off. They called this morning and told us.”

That sounded like Starsky, too. Hutch usually had a soft spot for hookers — ‘at least, he felt sorry for them — ‘but Starsky didn’t.

“I don’t understand,” Hutch said tiredly, taking another sip of the rancid coffee. “We’ve had cops in four states looking for him and we still can’t find him!”

“It’s pretty easy to disappear,” Duncan said. “He hasn’t done nothin’ wrong, and a man with a knapsack on the interstate is a pretty common sight.”

“My captain said hitch hiking’s illegal here.”

“It is,” Duncan said with a shrug, “but we don’t usually make an issue of it. Got better things to do. I-55’s a major route for drug dealers bringing stuff in from down south to Chicago. That keeps us pretty busy.”

~*~*~*~

Starsky ate and actually enjoyed his supper, brought on a tray by yet another smiling and cheerful young woman. He slept well for the first time in weeks and woke rested and feeling much better. Matt returned in the morning with a towel and soap and directed him to a bathroom where he could take a shower. It felt good, and someone washed his clothes for him while he was in there. He joined the community for breakfast in the common area and was taken aback by the number of people that were there. There were at least 100 people in the room.

“Do all these people live here?” he asked of Matt, who had sat beside him.

“No,” Matt said. “Only about, oh, 50 or 60 people live here. The rest are homeless people who come here to eat, or people who are thinking of joining us. Jesus loves them all.”

Before breakfast, a man about Starsky’s age led the group in grace, and after breakfast, the room emptied quickly as the members of the community scattered to their daily tasks. Matt’s was apparently to keep Starsky company, because he made no move to leave when everyone else did. Instead, he talked earnestly to Starsky about the beliefs of the Jesus People, and how they made their living, and how they all shared everything with the community. Starsky listened politely, but inwardly he was thinking that while the group might not be a cult in the strictest sense of the word, it was still not a place he would want to be tangled up with. The money the members made went into a common fund, Matt said, and if you needed new clothes or medical attention, you had to fill out paperwork to request money for the transaction. The head of the group made the rules, including who could marry whom and when. Kids were educated according to the group’s beliefs. And if you chose to leave — ‘at least, there was a choice there, Starsky thought — ‘you were shunned by the rest, who could no longer associate with you, even if you were a member of their biological family.

“That sounds kind of harsh,” Starsky said carefully.

Matt shrugged. “I know. But no one has to join if they don’t want to. And everyone knows the rules before they join. I grew up here.”

“Your parents are members?” Starsky was surprised. He hadn’t seen anyone old enough to have a son Matt’s age.

“Not anymore. They left when I was ten. But I stayed.”

“You stayed? Without them?”

Matt nodded. “I had been baptized by then, and I was considered old enough to choose for myself. And I wanted to stay. I haven’t seen them since then. I don’t know where they are.”

He didn’t sound at all upset by that fact, and that, more than anything else, convinced Starsky that he didn’t want to be here. He was grateful for the care and the food, but he had to get out of here. When he told the leader that, the man nodded.

“It’s not for everyone,” he said quite calmly. “We realize that. But if you should change your mind, you’d be welcome to return.”

“Thanks,” Starsky said, with no intention of ever coming back. He shouldered his knapsack and turned away, but the man stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Can we give you a ride somewhere? Downtown Chicago is no place for hitchhiking.”

Starsky considered. It would make things a little easier, he supposed. Though he felt better than he had, he knew he still had a fever and he was grateful they were willing to get him started in the right direction. That would save a little energy and he might not be able to get a ride in the rough part of town. “Yeah, that’d be terrific.”

“Where would you like us to drop you?”

“I’ve never been in this state before,” Starsky said. “An old Army buddy of mine is buried in some town called Decatur. Do you know where that is?”

“Certainly. It’s about a three-hour drive south of here. You could catch a train as far as Champaign and then you’d have to find a way to Decatur from there. It’s about an hour’s drive west of Champaign.”

Starsky very much doubted his two dollars and change would be enough to buy a train ticket to Champaign, so he simply said, “Could somebody take me to the station, then?”

The man studied him soberly. “You don’t have any money, do you, David?”

Starsky opened his mouth to lie, but finally just shrugged. “No. Not much, anyway.”

“Wait here.” The man left the room and, in a few minutes, returned. He placed some cash in Starsky’s hand, though Starsky tried to refuse it. “No, please. Take it. That’s what we’re here for, to help people. Jesus would want us to do this for you. Please.”

If he hadn’t needed it so badly, Starsky would have refused, but as it was, he accepted. “Thanks. I’ll pay you back someday.”

The man waved him off. “No, no need for that. Help someone else instead. Pass it on, as the song says.”

Starsky smiled, shook the man’s hand, and followed Jenny out to the van. It must have been the same one they’d brought him here in, but he didn’t remember it. She drove him to the train station downtown.

Starsky went in and looked at the schedules and the prices. A train ticket to Champaign didn’t cost much, but he didn’t know how long this money was going to have to last him. He finally decided he’d be better off hitching, dangerous or not. He left the train station and walked through the city streets, looking for the way back to the highway.

~*~*~*~

Hutch drove north on I-55 from Springfield, with no idea where he was going to look or what he was going to do when he got to Chicago. It was a big city, with a lot of homeless people, missions, shelters, and crime. He was worried sick about what could happen to Starsky there, especially in his current mood. He knew his partner well, and he knew how he’d feel if their positions were reversed.

But when he came upon the exit for I-72 to Decatur, on impulse he took it. He remembered Starsky telling him about his closest friend in ‘Nam who had been killed only a few weeks before he was due to go home. That friend was from Decatur and had been buried in his hometown. Starsky had said if he ever made it to Illinois, he was going to make a point of visiting his friend’s grave. Starsky never forgot a promise, even promises he made to himself. Hutch thought it was worth a try.

He was passing a sign that said Decatur was 18 more miles when he saw someone walking the same way he was going, but on the other side of the highway. Someone wearing a black and white varsity jacket. Dark hair, knapsack — ‘recognition came with a sudden rush of adrenaline.

Scanning ahead with his eyes, Hutch spotted a turnabout for emergency vehicles. He crossed into the fast lane and floored it, his heart nearly stopping from the thought that he might have just lucked into finding his best friend. His mind was racing with the irrational fear that someone else would pick him up before he could reach him. He was also thinking what a huge shock seeing him was going to be for Starsky and he decided he’d better just pull over like anyone else would to give him a ride.

He passed Starsky and pulled over on the shoulder. Looking over his shoulder he watched his friend pick up the pace to catch up to the car. Guess there’s no way to do this gently.

The passenger door opened and Starsky put his head in saying, “Hey, thanks, mister, I….”

He stopped in mid-sentence. His face drained of what little color it had and he dropped his knapsack.

“Starsk,” Hutch started, putting a hand out to him. How do you reassure someone who thinks he has just seen a ghost?

“Hu-Hutch?” Starsky couldn’t believe his eyes. He was sure he had finally lost it. Blinking his eyes a few times and trying to shake off the hallucination of his partner, he still found him sitting there in the driver’s seat. Hutch could do nothing but watch helplessly as Starsky lost focus and he collapsed from the shock. His system was at its breaking point.

“Damn!” Hutch exclaimed. That went well.

He scrambled out of the seat as fast as he could, using the car to lean on as he hobbled around the back of it to reach Starsky. As quickly as he could in a cast, he knelt next to him and felt his pulse, mentally kicking himself for not finding a better way to spring his “alive” self on the poor man lying on the ground.

“Starsky? Hey, it’s me, buddy. Wake up.” He tried to revive Starsky, unsuccessfully. His pulse rate was fast and his skin felt hot from fever. Hutch talked to him gently. “Come on, now’s no time for a nap, Gordo.” Hutch was concerned about Starsky’s shocky condition.

Hutch checked his friend over and was appalled by his appearance. He was seriously underweight, bruised and pale, and his hands were in terrible shape. The burns were infected, and the scars left by the wrist slashing were fresh. He pulled the brace off Starsky’s right hand and massaged the cold fingers gently. Even with a fever, the hand was too cool and the color wasn’t good. Hutch carefully replaced the brace and started struggling to pick Starsky up to put him in the car. That’s when he heard an unexpected voice behind him.

“What’s going on here?”

Hutch hadn’t heard the sound of the State Trooper’s cruiser as it pulled up in front of the car. He looked up to see a serious looking uniformed officer with one hand resting almost casually on his gun. He knew this must look bad.

Sighing in relief he said, “God, am I glad to see you. Please help me. My friend here is sick.”

The officer still looked wary. “Looks more like a hitchhiker to me. What’s your name?”

Though he understood the man’s cautious attitude, Hutch was too worried about Starsky to tolerate it. “I’m sorry, I know this looks suspicious. I’m Detective Sergeant Ken Hutchinson, Bay City Police Department. This man is my partner and he’s been missing. I need to get him to the hospital.”

The trooper remembered the APB for the missing police officer and his attitude changed immediately. “I’m Trooper Cal Reynolds. We can put him in my cruiser.”

“No. Just help me put him in the car. You can escort. I don’t want him waking up in the back of a cruiser. He’s in enough shock.” Hutch was relieved when Reynolds agreed.

“Follow me to St. Mary’s in Decatur. That’s the closest hospital.”

Reynolds put the front passenger seat down and tossed the knapsack into the back. They picked Starsky up and loaded him into the front seat. Trooper Reynolds closed the passenger door and jogged back to his cruiser while Hutch hobbled back around the car. He slid into the driver’s seat and peeled out after the cruiser, pushing the Chevy as hard as he could. They tore across the emergency vehicle turnaround and headed for Decatur.

As they screamed down the Interstate toward the hospital, Hutch stole repeated glances at his partner. He had broken out in a sweat and didn’t look good at all. Hutch put a hand on Starsky’s chest every few minutes to be sure he was breathing. This was about as scared as he had been since he almost lost Starsky in a hail of bullets in the police garage two years ago.

The cruiser finally took an exit and Hutch followed him through the streets of the town. He got confused by all the twists and turns, worried they were wasting valuable time going to a hospital that was too far from the highway. They wove in and out of traffic and finally Hutch saw the hospital ahead. Reynolds pulled into the emergency entrance with Hutch right on his tail. When they reached the emergency vehicle bay, Hutch saw him get out and rush inside, giving him enough time to get out of the car and around to the passenger door while the emergency personnel responded and came out with a gurney. Starsky was still passed out cold. Hutch stood back while they extricated Starsky and put him on the gurney. Taking one look at his partner’s pale face, the team whisked him away from Hutch almost before he knew what was happening.

He tossed his car key to Reynolds and asked him to park the Chevy somewhere. Then he hobbled into the hospital. His first instinct was to rush into wherever they had taken Starsky, but he knew he had to call the captain and Huggy first. He spotted the pay phones and placed the call to Dobey collect. His hands were shaking too badly to put coins in the phone.

“Yes, operator, I’ll accept the charges.” Dobey was praying this was good news.

“Cap, I’ve found him.” Hutch’s voice was nearly breathless.

“Thank God! Is he all right? Where are you?” Dobey stopped himself to give Hutch a chance to respond.

“I don’t know yet. He collapsed when he saw me. I think he’s in shock. He looks bad, Cap.” Hutch didn’t want to admit how scared he was.

“Where are you?” Dobey repeated the ignored question a little louder.

“Sorry. I’m in Decatur, Illinois. St. Mary’s Hospital.”

“I’ll call off the search. You want me to come there?”

“Why don’t you wait ’til I hear something? I’ve gotta call Huggy, too. I’ll call you later, okay?” All he wanted to do was get off the phone so he could force the staff to take him to Starsky.

“Okay, Hutch. I’ll call Huggy. You go be with your partner.”

“Thanks, Cap’n.” Hutch hung up the phone and went to the reception desk. By the time he reached it, Reynolds was returning through the Emergency Room doors. Hutch pulled out his identification to show the receptionist.

“I’m Detective Ken Hutchinson. The man just brought in is my partner, Detective David Starsky. I need to go back there with him.” He tried to put on his best “don’t argue with me, I’m a cop” face. Somehow, that never seemed to work well with Emergency Room personnel.

“I’m sorry, Detective Hutchinson, you’ll have to wait.” She pointed to the typical waiting area.

Hutch tried his next tactic. “Look, I’m exhausted and worried and in no mood to argue. My partner has been missing and I just found him. I really need to be there for him when he regains consciousness.”

She started to object again, but Reynolds came to Hutch’s rescue. “Let him back there. I’ll vouch for him.” At least she recognized Reynolds as a local officer. She didn’t know what to think of the blond cop standing in front of her. She thought he looked like he might need Emergency Room services just as badly as his friend.

“Okay, take him back there,” she said to Reynolds.

The state trooper nodded his thanks. He handed Hutch back his key and told him where he parked the car as he led him through the ominous double doors to where they were frantically working on his partner. He left Hutch in the treatment room and returned to call his own captain and tell him that the missing officer had been found.

Starsky had already been given oxygen and he was on an IV. They were drawing blood when Hutch and Reynolds entered the room. They had taken off his jacket and shoes, tossing them into a corner. One of the nurses was cutting off Starsky’s clothes. The doctor motioned another nurse to go talk to Hutch.

“You with the patient?” she asked him.

“Yes. His name is David Starsky. He’s a police officer. My partner,” Hutch replied, swaying on his feet. He was tired and his leg was pounding with pain.

She wrote that on a medical history form and motioned for Hutch to sit down in a nearby chair. “You look like you’re going to fall down any second. Sit.” She gently pushed him into the chair. “Now, what’s going on with your friend?”

Hutch put his head down for a minute and the nurse watched with concern as he gathered enough energy to answer her questions. His hands were shaking. While his head was down, the doctor walked over to join them.

“Go and get him some juice, please,” he said to the nurse. Then he pulled a chair up beside Hutch.

“I’m Doctor Larson. Your name?” He asked.

Hutch looked up at him and the doctor couldn’t remember when he had last seen such raw panic in someone’s eyes who wasn’t a screaming Emergency Room patient.

Hutch repeated the information he had already given. “I’m Detective Ken Hutchinson from the Bay City Police Department in California. Your patient is my partner. His name is Starsky. David Starsky.”

“I see. Can you tell me what’s happened to him?” he asked kindly.

Hutch nodded. “Who’s with him?” He looked around the doctor to see what was happening. A nurse in a white uniform with what looked like a nun’s veil instead of a traditional nurse’s cap was attending to him. Administering some injections into the IV line.

“Don’t worry, Sister Ann is with him. Now, what can you tell me?” The doctor needed some information to help him treat Starsky.

“Starsky has been missing. I’ve been looking for him.”

“How long’s he been missing?”

Hutch thought hard about it. “I don’t know, Doc. Weeks.” He thanked the other nurse when she put a cup of juice in his hands. He tried to drink it while answering the doctor’s questions.

“I got a look at him when we got his clothes off. You sure your buddy is a cop, not a rodeo cowboy? He sure has a lot of scars.”

Hutch smiled. “He’s had a lot of trauma. He nearly died two years ago from an assassination attempt. That’s what those scars are from.”

The doctor nodded and made some notes on the clipboard. “What about his wrists. Should I be worried about him being a danger to himself?”

“No. That was done to him. Look, Doc, this is a long story. I’m really tired and I want to be with him, so I’m gonna give you the condensed version, okay?” He waited for the doctor’s nod before continuing. “Starsky was attacked weeks ago by some goons who thought they’d kill him by slashing his wrists. They left him for dead and they grabbed me. I was missing for a while and they convinced everyone I was dead, including Starsky. We’re not just partners, we’re best friends. Let’s just say he blamed himself for my supposed death. He hit the road before they found me. All this time he’s thought I was dead, and he was to blame. I’ve been following him all over the country.” Hutch continued to steal looks over the doctor’s shoulder, watching the nurse gently remove Starsky’s brace and start to treat his burned hands.

“I know he’s been hurt along the way. I almost caught up to him in Springfield, Missouri where he had been taken to the Memorial Hospital. You can call them to find out what they did for him, ask for Dr. Bradford. I know he was suffering from smoke inhalation and his hands were burned rescuing a child from a car fire outside of Oklahoma City. The doc in Springfield said he was sick. They gave him some medication to take, but in his state of mind, I’ll bet he didn’t take any.”

The doctor looked up at Hutch and was about to ask another question when they heard Starsky’s panicked voice. He had woken up and found what looked like a nun in all white standing over him. His first thought was that another religious group had found him.

“No, get away from me!” he screamed, trying to fight with Sister Ann. She held his hands down and called for the doctor as he continued to scream, though the sound of his weak voice didn’t carry very far. Starsky was sick and hurting and in his foggy state he didn’t want to deal with the pain anymore. He pleaded with Sister Ann, “No, no. Just let me die.”

By the time Hutch reached him, Starsky’s eyes were frantic. He quickly moved to where Starsky could see him and he took over holding his hands so the nurse could go for the sedative Dr. Larson was ordering.

“Starsk, it’s me, Hutch. You’re safe.” He tried to make his voice sound even and calming.

Starsky looked like he didn’t recognize him. “Hutch is dead. Get away from me! Just let me go.” He closed his eyes and tears leaked out from under his tightly shut lids.

“Starsky, stop it. Buddy, I’m not dead. I know you thought I was, but I’m okay.” He was starting to cry too. Starsky’s eyes remained closed as he shook his head weakly from side to side, softly mumbling, “No, no.”

The nurse added the sedative to his IV and Starsky went limp. Hutch wheeled on the doctor, “What’s wrong with him? Why doesn’t he recognize me?”

“Calm down. He’s had a terrible shock and his temperature is over 104. He’s delirious. Now go back over there and sit down. I’ll be right there.”

Hutch touched Starsky on the shoulder and leaned over him. “I’m right here, Gordo. I’m not dead. Everything is gonna be okay.” He prayed it would be. Then he obeyed Dr. Larson and went back to his chair. A few minutes later the doctor returned to the chair next to Hutch.

“What do you think, doctor?” Hutch asked him, his heart hopeful, but his head telling him how seriously ill Starsky was.

“Your friend is in critical condition. It’s a lucky thing you found him when you did. I’m not sure how much longer he could have gone on in his current state. Do you know how much he usually weighs?”

“Yeah, around 165,” Hutch answered.

“Well, I’d bet he doesn’t weigh more than 145 or 150 today. He’s dehydrated and he looks like he hasn’t eaten much in quite a while. I’d say he’s had some exposure to the elements too, maybe he’s even been sleeping on the street.”

Hutch’s heart was breaking for Starsky. “I couldn’t find him. I tried.”

The doctor put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “This isn’t your fault. Your friend is lucky you were looking for him. He would have died out on the street like this. His hands are badly infected, and he has fluid in his lungs. I’m sending him up for some X-Rays and I’ve already started a broad-spectrum antibiotic. I don’t like the color in his right hand so I’m calling for an orthopedic surgeon to take a look at it. We have a good man here in Decatur, he specializes in hand surgery.The scars look good. I’m sure the doctors who treated him did an excellent job, but he hasn’t taken care of himself and he may have caused a setback in his recovery or even re-injured his hands. I know this is a lot to take in, but we’ll take good care of him. Try not to worry.”

Hutch was afraid to ask, but he had to know. “Is he going to make it?” He didn’t know what he would do if Starsky died now.

“I hope so. I’m not going to promise you, though. We’re going to get him stabilized and move him to the ICU. If we can get his fever down and get the infection under control, he’ll probably be all right.”

“I want to be with him,” Hutch said.

“Of course, but first I’m going to take a look at you.”

“What? Me? No, I’m okay.” Hutch was not interested in being a patient again.

“I think you’d better let me be the judge of that.” Behind the doctor, Starsky was being pushed out of the Emergency Room on the way to X-Ray. When Hutch started to stand, the room refused to cooperate and started to spin a little. He put a hand out to steady himself and found himself being led to a gurney.

“Look, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” Dr. Larson said. “I could just wait for you to pass out, too, but I’d rather not if it’s all right with you.”

Hutch acquiesced and lay back on the gurney. “You let me know if there’s any change, okay?”

“Your friend will be out from that sedative for a few hours. We’ll be done by then. Relax. I’m just going to call for that orthopedic consult. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Lying there, finally able to rest assured that Starsky was in good hands, Hutch fell asleep waiting for the doctor’s return. When he came back and woke Hutch up, they talked about how he had been feeling, the tension and stress he’d been under, his recent illness, and his healing injuries. The doctor drew some blood and found Hutch to be anemic and that his blood sugar was too low. An X-ray of Hutch’s leg revealed it to be healing nicely. Larson ordered an IV and a meal for the blond. Hutch rested for three hours while they did their tests and forced him to eat. When he felt comfortable that Hutch would not pass out, he got him a cane to replace the crutches and released him to go sit with Starsky. He gave him a list of aftercare instructions including taking some iron supplements and getting more rest.

Hutch stopped at the pay phones again. This time he felt confident putting the coins in so he didn’t call collect. Captain Dobey was relieved to hear from him.

“How’s he doing?” he asked.

“Not so good, Cap. He has a high fever and an infection. They’re worried about his right hand too. They called in an orthopedic guy to look at it,” Hutch answered.

“You sound a little better. How are you doing?”

“They made me let them look me over. I’m okay. Just a little anemic.”

Knowing how Hutch always downplayed his own injuries when Starsky was in jeopardy, Dobey persisted. “What about the leg, Hutch?”

“Leg’s doing fine. I graduated to a cane. I’m going up to see Starsky now.” Hutch was done talking about Hutch.

“Huggy’s already on his way out there. I have a few things to wrap up here, but I could be there in the morning.”

“If Huggy’s coming, why don’t you just stay out there, Cap? I’d love to have your company, but we might need you on that end to make arrangements for bringing him home. Okay?” utch was hoping the captain would agree. He didn’t want him to have to come all the way to Illinois when they might be able to transfer Starsky back home in a couple of days. He had a feeling that Captain Dobey wanted to stay in Bay City. His instincts were telling him the captain had things he wanted to do there.

“All right, Hutch. I do have some things I’m working on here that should be taken care of before you bring him home.”

“Great. I’ll be in touch. Thanks for everything, Cap.”

“Take good care of yourself. I know you’ll take care of him.” Dobey chuckled.

“That’s what Huggy’s for, Cap. I hope to see you in a couple of days.” Hutch hung up the phone and walked to the elevator. The cane was helping, and his leg felt a little better since he had rested.

When he walked into the ICU, he was relieved to see Starsky still sleeping. They had packed him in ice for a while, but they were clearing that away as he entered the room.

“He’s doing a little better,” the nurse told him. “His fever’s down to 102.6.” She exited the room, leaving Hutch alone with his friend.

He took up his usual seat next to Starsky’s bedside, turned, so he could watch him sleeping. They had replaced the bandages on his hands and Hutch looked at them carefully. When the nurse returned with a blanket for him, he thanked her and asked, “What happened to the brace he was wearing? Doesn’t he need it?” Starsky’s right hand was now wrapped in an elastic bandage with a piece of hard plastic under his palm.

“He’s lost a lot of weight and it’s so big on him now, the thing was probably doing more harm than good. The orthopod, uh, orthopedic surgeon will take care of that when he gets here. He said he’d be here,” she paused and looked at the wall clock, “in about an hour. Relax.”

“Sorry.” Hutch dropped his eyes a little. “I’m just worried about him.”

“I know. My name is Karen. What’s yours?” She shook his hand as he told her to call him Ken. “Don’t worry, Ken. We’ve got it under control. You just be here for him.”

“That’s the easiest thing I’ve had to do for weeks.” Hutch couldn’t help but laugh a little. Relief was beginning to seep into his soul, but he wouldn’t feel relaxed until he knew Starsky was out of the woods. Having him wake up and recognize him would help, too.

He gently took Starsky’s left hand in his and talked to him softly. “I know you’re mixed up right now, buddy. Must’ve been a pretty big shock to see my ugly mug. I’m gonna be right here when you wake up, though. It’s gonna be okay. You just get well.” Hutch settled in to wait for Starsky to wake up and for Huggy to arrive.

He dozed off again while he was sitting there, and when the nurse came back to check on Starsky, she reached down to pick up the blanket that had fallen to the floor and tucked it around the blond man. He looked absolutely exhausted, almost as bad as his friend. She shook her head and turned to take Starsky’s pulse and found his eyes open. He wasn’t looking at her, however, but at the man in the chair. No, not looking. Staring. With wonder.

“How do you feel?” she asked softly, not wanting to awaken his friend.

Starsky turned his eyes to her briefly, almost as if he hadn’t known she was there. “Huh?”

“How do you feel?” she repeated, but Starsky was looking at the other man again.

“Hutch?” he said quietly, the way one would speak to a frightened animal. “My God, is that really you?”

The blond man’s eyes opened at the sound of Starsky’s voice and when their eyes met, Karen realized she had no business witnessing this moment. She didn’t know why she felt that way, but she quickly and quietly left the room.

Hutch sat up and let the blanket fall to the floor again. He and Starsky simply stared at each other for several moments — ‘neither knew how long — ‘and Hutch finally reached out with his other hand and laid it against Starsky’s hair. “Hi, buddy.”

Starsky seemed to have lost the power of speech. His hand, still lying in Hutch’s, gave one spasmodic squeeze, but other than that he simply lay there and stared until Hutch gave a nervous laugh.

“You okay? I’m not a ghost and you aren’t dreaming.”

“But…” Starsky closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again, “I thought…I mean….”

“The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” Hutch said, trying to be funny. “So were yours, I might add.”

Starsky wet his lips and, with obvious effort, tore his eyes away and glanced around the room. “Where am I?”

“In a hospital in Decatur, Illinois. You’re in bad shape, partner. And you aren’t leaving here until you’re better. Those aren’t the doctor’s orders. They’re mine.”

Starsky’s eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “What happened? How’d you find me? Where have you been? You’re hurt!” Starsky had just noticed the cast.

“Whoa, take it easy.” Hutch smiled at him. “Plenty of time for all that. We got a lot to talk about.”

They talked long into the night and though Hutch often tried to stop and make Starsky go to sleep, Starsky wouldn’t hear of it. At one point, his eyes filled with tears and he said, “God, buddy, I’ve been goin’ around thinkin’ you’re dead for weeks and you want me to shut my eyes just when I’ve got ya back? What if I open ’em and you’re gone again?”

“Aw, Starsk. That’s not gonna happen,” Hutch said, his own eyes filling. He stroked his hand carefully up and down Starsky’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I can’t believe you followed me halfway across the country,” Starsky said. “How’d you know where to look?”

“I told you how we traced you to El Paso.”

Starsky nodded.

“And then I saw you on the news, saving that kid from the wreck in Oklahoma City.”

Starsky nodded again.

“From there it was mostly instinct, until you called home to get money for the hospital in Springfield,” Hutch said. “I didn’t know which way you’d gone. I just — ‘” He shrugged. “Guessed.”

Starsky smiled, but it wasn’t the ear-to-ear Starsky special. This was a slow, gentle smile that softened his eyes and made his face almost glow. “You done good, partner.”

~*~*~*~

Huggy arrived in the middle of the afternoon. He’d had to catch a connecting flight from St. Louis, and he wasn’t happy about the small plane that had brought him the rest of the way. Hutch picked him up at the little airport and Huggy complained all the way to the hospital. But Hutch didn’t mind. It was good to see Huggy — ‘so good he’d almost thrown his arms around him and hugged him, but Huggy was less demonstrative than Starsky and it would have embarrassed him, so he didn’t. But he’d shaken his hand hard and clapped him on the shoulder.

Now, as they rode upstairs in the elevator, Huggy finally stopped moaning about “small towns” and “beans and corn and corn and beans” and asked about Starsky.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Hutch said. “Thank God. He’s lost a lot of weight. The doctor still isn’t sure if his right hand’s ever going to be the same again. But his fever’s down and — ‘” He stopped. He had to.

Huggy nodded understandingly. “He wants to be okay now. That’ll make all the difference. I know.”

Starsky was sleeping when they walked in the room — ‘he’d already been moved to a regular room — ‘but he woke up, sensing their presence. Huggy strode right over to the bed and grinned down. Starsky grinned up. “It is good to see you, friend,” Huggy said.

“Good to see you, too, Hug.”

“I’m only gonna say this once,” Huggy said, “so you best pay attention, flatfoot. You ever do somethin’ like this to me again, I’ll be the one who comes lookin’ for your white behind, and when I find it, I’m gonna kick it. Kapish?”

Starsky laughed out loud.

Starsky improved rapidly with the combination of both Hutch and Huggy to nag him into eating and keep his spirits high. Hutch also felt like a new man. Huggy had found a barbecue joint in the downtown area operating out of a converted gas station. He smuggled in ribs and chicken and various other delicacies and Hutch could almost watch Starsky gain weight and health.

“Huggy,” Starsky said through a mouthful of ribs two nights later, “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what?” Huggy asked innocently.

“You ain’t never been here before. I know you haven’t. How’d you find the best rib joint in the state inside o’ two days?”

“My cousin runs it.”

“Oh, come on,” Starsky said, clearly not buying it.

“No, man, I’m bein’ straight with ya. Well, okay, he ain’t my cousin, but he used to live next door to my cousin’s third wife when they were kids — ‘”

Starsky held up his free hand, laughing. “I give. Uncle, already. It don’t matter. You tell him I said these are the best ribs I ever ate.”

Huggy exchanged a grin with Hutch.

The doctor promised Starsky could leave the hospital by the weekend, though he wanted him to rest another two or three days before traveling. Starsky agreed to that, and when the time came for Huggy to head back to Bay City, Starsky and Hutch took him back to the airport. When the 30-seat plane touched down, Huggy sighed theatrically and turned to the detectives. “I hate flyin’. ‘Specially in one o’ them little puddle-jumpers.”

Starsky grinned and patted him on the back. “You’ll be okay, Hug. I promise. We’ll see ya in a few days, okay?”

After the plane took off, Hutch pulled the key to the rental car out of his pocket. “Let’s go get a motel room, buddy. We got a couple of days to kill.”

“Hutch.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s somethin’ I gotta do first.”

Hutch turned back to him. He’d seldom seen quite that look in Starsky’s eyes. “What?”

“I wanna go to Mark’s grave. That’s why I was comin’ here to begin with, y’know.”

Hutch nodded. He’d guessed as much, but he hadn’t asked because they’d had so much else to talk about. “Okay. Want me to come or not?”

“Of course I want you to come!” Starsky said.

“All right. Where’s he buried?”

The ticket clerk gave them directions and Hutch drove while Starsky stared out the window in utter silence. Not wanting to disturb whatever memories Starsky was reliving, Hutch also held his peace until they had pulled into the cemetery. It was a fairly large cemetery and Hutch cringed at the thought of trying to walk around in a cast out here looking for one grave among so many. But Starsky anticipated the thought.

“You wait here,” he said. “I’ll find it and signal you.”

Hutch nodded and watched as Starsky walked up and down through the various markers. He knew the instant Starsky found the right one. His friend froze mid-step and something in the set of his shoulders told Hutch he’d found it. Hutch drove the car as close as he could and got out. Leaning heavily on the cane, he walked over to Starsky and gently laid a hand on his back. He could tell by the tension in the muscles that Starsky was controlling his emotions with an effort.

The stone was very plain. Across the top was the name “McLaughlin” and underneath, “Mark, beloved son, 1948-1969.” Only twenty-one years old.

“He only had three weeks before his discharge,” Starsky said softly after many minutes had passed. “He’d been wounded once, but not bad. We went out on patrol and we weren’t even worried about it, ’cause there hadn’t been no action in that area for a couple of months. We were walkin’ along, talkin’, and Mark was tellin’ me all the stuff he was gonna do when he got home. Hug his mom and eat some of her chocolate cake. Take his dog for a walk. Look up his high school buddies — ‘the ones who weren’t in the Army — ‘and go out and get drunk. We didn’t hear nothin’ or see nothin’ until the shots. I hit the dirt and so did he. I fired in the direction the shots came from and I saw the sniper runnin’ off and then I turned my head to tell Mark it was safe to get up. And he didn’t move. So I reached out to him — ‘” He paused and put his good hand up to his eyes for a moment. Hutch slowly stroked his back and waited. After a moment, he went on, “I turned him over and there was a bullet wound right through his heart. He’d died almost instantly. Hutch,” Starsky looked up, “he was my best friend.”

Hutch nodded without speaking.

Starsky turned back to the grave and knelt so he could pull a couple of non-existent weeds from the base of it. He laid one hand on the stone for a moment and stood up. He looked to the west and his eyes widened a little.

“Hutch.”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“See that park over there?” He pointed.

It looked like a fairly large park. There was the roof of a pavilion peeking over the tops of the trees and a large wrought-iron arch over the entrance. “I see it.”

“That was where Mark liked to take his dog for walks,” Starsky said. “He used to tell me about the pool and the duck pond and how the kids would cruise Eldorado Street on Saturday nights and drive through the park and stop and make out until the cops came along and rousted ’em.”

“Want to drive through it?”

“D’you mind?”

“Not a bit. Come on.”

Hutch drove through the beautiful park. The archway declared its name to be “Fairview” and Hutch approved of the name choice. He knew Starsky was going to enjoy this. They passed the large pavilion they had seen from the cemetery. Lots of picnic tables looked welcoming and Hutch imagined them full of people enjoying a pleasant weekend afternoon together. When they came to the duck pond, Starsky asked him to stop. He exited the car and walked to the water’s edge to watch the birds. Hutch smiled, he knew Starsky loved ducks. He wished it were the right time of year for ducklings, but it was still too early, and the weather was too cold yet.

After giving Starsky some time to think he joined him. “Hey, partner. You okay?” he asked.

Starsky nodded. “Mark said it was pretty here. He liked the ducks.”

“He was right. Anything you want to talk about, buddy?” Hutch knew there was something on Starsky’s mind and he hoped he would share it.

Starsky slowly shook his head, but he also spoke. “I just don’t get it sometimes. Mark and me were both there when that sniper opened fire. Why him and not me?”

That thought gave Hutch a momentary chill. “I don’t know, but I’m glad you made it. I would never have known you otherwise and from what you’ve told me, Mark never would have fit into my jacket.”

Starsky smiled at him. He loved the way Hutch could make him smile when he was feeling blue. He had left the jacket in the car and now, standing by the water, he had the chills. Hutch noticed.

“Hey, you’re shivering. We’d better get you back in the car. Why aren’t you wearing the jacket?” He touched Starsky’s elbow and started to steer him back toward the Chevy.

Starsky shrugged. “Guess I figured it’s not mine to wear anymore. Its rightful owner is back.”

“You can hang onto it for me, Gordo.” He knew the jacket had been important to Starsky on his journey.

“Nah, ‘s yours. You take it.”

“How about we share it, huh? At least till I get you home and you have your leather one back, okay?”

Starsky appreciated it. He really didn’t want to give it up so soon. The jacket was his link to Hutch during his darkest time. Suddenly, he remembered the pocket watch he still had in his knapsack. When they reached the car, he crawled into the back to get it.

“What are you after?” Hutch asked, “Let me help you.” He didn’t want Starsky pushing his still healing hands.

“Wait a minute.” tarsky was determined. He finally found in it in the small hard case he had kept it in, down in the bottom of the bag. Hutch had searched the knapsack for clues to the details of Starsky’s adventures, but he had missed the small case.

Starsky was beaming when he put it in Hutch’s hand. The blond opened the box and was stunned to see his pocket watch there.

“Wh-where did you get it?” he stammered, suddenly nervous without knowing why.

“Paco got it off that fisherman. Lying sack of….” Starsky stopped himself as he felt his anger rising.

“Easy, buddy.” Hutch understood how he felt. Starsky hadn’t told him much about his time in Mexico, just that the fisherman had lied about them tossing his body into the waters off the coast of Ensenda. He knew exactly how he would have felt.

Hutch didn’t want Starsky getting upset. He tried to change the subject. “Thanks for keeping my watch safe, Gordo.”

“Dammit!” Starsky said, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath that ended in a cough. When Hutch called him “Gordo,” Starsky thought about what he had seen in Mexico, written on the wall in Hutch’s blood.

“Hey, don’t let it get to you, Starsk. Everything’s okay now.” Hutch reached out and put his hand on Starsky’s shoulder.

Blue eyes dark with pain looked up at him. “Is it okay, Hutch? You coulda died down there for real. That guy made the difference. He pushed me over the top to believe you were dead. Even with the way that shack looked, if it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve kept looking. I might’ve found you.” He instantly regretted what he just said. Starsky had no intention of telling Hutch about that part. Hutch obviously didn’t remember much about that shack, his blood loss, or what he had written on the wall. He didn’t want his friend to dwell on the pain all of it had caused him. Although he had held together admirably, Starsky was afraid his best friend was squelching a serious bout of guilt and anger. That was the way Hutch operated. He would never allow himself to face his own pain as long as he thought Starsky was in any danger. With Starsky on the mend, a storm was imminent.

Hutch asked, “What about the shack?”

Starsky shook his head. “No, ‘s okay, Hutch. You’re right, doesn’t matter now.”

“Obviously it does matter. What has you so upset?” Hutch was concerned. He didn’t want anything to happen that would set Starsky back for any reason.

Starsky sighed and looked down at the ground. He was starting to shiver in earnest now and Hutch made him sit in the front seat. Though it wasn’t the easiest maneuver in a cast, Hutch knelt beside the open car door and put a hand on Starsky’s leg looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please tell me. I want you to tell me everything that happened, in Mexico and on the road. I know you’re leaving stuff out, Gordo. You can’t fool me.”

Knowing he couldn’t escape his partner’s inquisition for long, Starsky started slowly, “Buddy, the shack had your blood all over it. The place was a mess. I couldn’t imagine you could still be alive with that much of your blood lost. Don’t ask me how I knew it was yours, but I did.” He hoped that would do, but Hutch could tell there was more.

“What else?”

“You don’t miss much, do you?” Starsky sighed.

“Not from you, pal. Now, come on, what else?” Hutch’s gaze was intense, but Starsky held it.

“I found your necklace. The one I gave you on your birthday. That’s in my knapsack too, in the box of bullets for Dad’s gun. Then I saw what you wrote on the wall.”

“What? I didn’t write anything, buddy.” Hutch was puzzled. He had been completely out of it when Terrel and his thugs took him out of that shack. “I wasn’t even conscious when they took me outta there. What did it say?”

“I don’t understand. What it said, only you could’ve written that.” Starsky was confused. No one in Mexico would have known about Hutch’s nickname for him. “You’ve just forgotten.”

“No, I’m telling you I remember that shack. I just didn’t talk about it much because I didn’t want to upset you. What did it say?” Hutch insisted.

Starsky swallowed, “I tried, Gordo.” He fought back his emotions, remembering how much it hurt when he read that. Closing his eyes, he put his head back on the seat. “Hey, I’m beat. Let’s find that hotel room, ‘kay?”

Hutch was trembling with anger. He had no idea how Terrel had known what to write to achieve the most painful reaction. Then he realized he had been delirious with fever. He must have been calling for Starsky. Intent on keeping the tide of his anger down and his feelings about what this did to Starsky to himself, he nodded and quietly shut the door.

When he was back in the driver’s seat and heading out of the park, Starsky said, “Hutch? You okay?”

“Yeah. You’re tired, buddy. Why don’t you just relax? We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He desperately wanted Starsky to drop it before he exploded. Hutch struggled for control of his feelings, but they were starting to crowd past his carefully established barriers.

Starsky wanted to pursue it, but he really was exhausted and he could tell Hutch was not in any frame of mind to talk about it. Not yet. He’d give his friend some time and then try again.

They headed toward the Holiday Inn Starsky’s nurse had recommended. She laughingly had told them that even small towns have No-Tell Motels and Decatur was no exception. He elected to pass on both the Intown and the Soy City motels. They checked into a double room and headed up so that Starsky could get some needed rest. Hutch thought he was looking a little pale and he didn’t like it that he had gotten so chilled.

When they reached the room, Starsky threw his knapsack onto one of the beds and announced that he needed a hot bath to take the chill out first. Then he would rest a while and they would go out for something to eat later. Before he could get into the bathroom, Starsky heard Hutch asking him a question.

“Hey, Starsk, those guys who got your wallet in El Paso. Did they hurt you?” Starsky stopped in his tracks, wondering why that was important at that moment.

“What difference does it make, I’m okay.” He tried to walk away, but Hutch determinedly said his name again.

“Starsk.”

He knew he would have to answer, but he could at least downplay it. “No major damage, buddy. Father Dolan was there, remember?” Again he tried to walk into the bathroom. This time he had his hand on the doorknob when his partner’s quiet voice said his name again.

“Starsky.”

“All right, Blintz. Yes, they hurt me a little. They caught me when I wasn’t looking their way and they threw me into the wall. They didn’t really hurt me, just stunned me for a few minutes. Now can I take my bath?” Hutch nodded at him without speaking. Starsky went into the bathroom and closed the door, knowing he was going to have to deal with Hutch’s mounting anger soon.

Hutch sat in the chair by the window, pulling out the pocket watch. He turned it over in his hands, opened it, set the time, wound it. He had believed it was lost forever and finding out it had been safe with Starsky all along was a pleasant surprise. He was glad the thieves in El Paso hadn’t gotten it. Starsky would have felt terrible.

Remembering what Starsky said about the box of bullets, he hobbled over to the bed and opened the knapsack. He pulled the box out and retrieved his necklace. Starsky had been so proud of it when he gave it to him for his birthday. The chain would need repair, but he could put it in his wallet for now. He wanted it back and close to him. Just as he was about to put the knapsack back on Starsky’s bed, on an impulse, he pulled out the old revolver and looked to see if it was loaded. The gun had one bullet in it — ‘in the firing position. Hutch felt himself turning white as the blood rushed toward his feet. He had a sudden revelation. If the gun had just one bullet in it, Starsky was either playing Russian Roulette or he had seriously contemplated eating that bullet. Hutch doubted his friend was playing Russian Roulette.

Hutch’s knees gave out and he plopped down on the floor between their beds. The gun was still in his hand when he leaned back against his bed, putting his head down and closing his eyes tightly. He felt weak and was trying not to lose control. Hutch believed he had to remain strong for Starsky. His partner needed him, and he couldn’t afford this useless wallow in his own fears and pain over what had happened to them.

Those fears and that pain were palpable to Hutch. Try as he might he couldn’t control them, and he soon found himself crying with his head still down and the gun still in his hand. He couldn’t stop. All of the tension and heartache he had felt from the minute he saw that Terrel’s gorilla had slashed Starsky’s wrists, to when he found his dazed and ill partner walking along the highway, rushed at him. His heart twisted at the memory of the wait for the doctors to say Starsky was stabilized and would recover. He went from being his usual, in control self to being a man quickly drowning in denied feelings in a frightening few minutes. He knew back in the park that his hold was slipping; now he seemed to be going down for the third time. Hutch sat, quietly crying, for long minutes and he never heard the bathroom door open, or his whistling, cheerful partner coming back into the room.

Starsky had pulled on a pair of sweats Hutch had bought him because he thought they’d be easier for him to maneuver with his injured hands. “Hey, Hutch,” Starsky was saying as he toweled his hair dry with his left hand, “I was thinking later we could….” He stopped suddenly when he moved the towel away from his face and saw Hutch. His friend was sitting on the floor between their beds with his head down and Michael Starsky’s service revolver in his hand, lying limply in his lap. Starsky’s heart nearly stopped and he rushed to kneel beside Hutch.

Starsky’s head knew Hutch couldn’t have pulled the trigger of that gun without him hearing the blast, but he was running on pure fear for a few horrifying seconds. Reaching an unsteady hand out to touch his friend, terrifying thoughts crowding in on him, Starsky said, “Babe? You all right?”

Starsky put his hand on Hutch’s shoulder, feeling the trembling underneath it. Hutch looked up at him with red eyes and tears on his face. He held the gun up for Starsky to take and said, “Gordo, you wouldn’t have….”

Taking the revolver from him gently, Starsky popped it open and let the bullet fall onto the floor. He realized in one regret-filled instant that he had never unloaded the gun after he had dismissed the idea of killing himself with it — ‘and Hutch knew that. Smooth move, idiot.

“Hutch, I’m sorry.” He hung his head, sitting down next to Hutch. How could he explain away what he had almost done? He knew there was no way to do it without hurting his partner. He regretted his stupid oversight in not unloading the gun much more than he regretted the fact that he had almost killed himself. Causing pain to Hutch hurt more than that regret, and though he had believed his friend was dead at the time, he knew that was not an excuse that would ease Hutch’s pain.

“Why, Starsk? Because of me?” Hutch looked pitiful and Starsky’s heart was breaking.

“I didn’t do it,” Starsky said plaintively.

“You almost did, buddy. Not because of me, please.” Hutch couldn’t bear the thought that Starsky would take his own life in his grief. Hot tears poured down his cheeks.

Starsky threw the gun on the bed and moved over, pulling Hutch toward him. He put his arm around Hutch’s shoulder, using the other hand to take one of his partner’s hands. “I’m sorry. I never wanted you to know that. I’m so sorry.” Hutch was shaking and quietly crying. Starsky tried to soothe away the pain. “It’s okay, buddy. We made it. Please don’t cry.” He couldn’t stand to see his friend this way.

“God, Starsk. What if you did it? How would I have felt?” Hutch started to lean heavily on him, and he allowed Starsky to ease him down to lie on the floor, his head in Starsky’s lap.

“Hutch, I should’ve been faster. I should’ve kept them from taking you. I’m sorry, partner, but I failed you. You were hurt because I failed you.” Voicing his shame at losing Hutch to Terrel was painful. He needed to assure Hutch that it wasn’t his fault.

“No, no,” Hutch quietly said it repeatedly as he clutched Starsky’s leg. “You almost died, more than once, and it was all because of me.”

“Don’t say that, Hutch. That ain’t right. ‘S my job to protect you, watch your back. I screwed up. I shoulda known you were in trouble. If I’d figured it out sooner, I could’ve stopped them. I’m sorry.”

Both men sat crying and trying to apologize for their own imagined failings. Starsky believed he should have been quicker to figure out what was going down in Hutch’s apartment that day and Hutch thought he should have found some better excuse to keep Starsky from returning and walking into the hell they had both endured. Slowly, Hutch calmed down enough to have a quiet, heartfelt talk with his partner.

“Starsk, how’d you figure out I was in trouble?” Hutch asked when they had exhausted another round of my-fault-no-my-fault.

“Your empty holster. Why would you take your gun out and wear the empty holster around in your own apartment?”

Hutch laughed in spite of his sorrow. “Partner, you’re the smartest person I know. You thought fast that day, faster than anyone else would’ve and it’s not your fault it didn’t stop them.”

Starsky absorbed that thought. Admitting to himself that he had done his best was not easy when his partner had been hurt because his best was not enough.

“I’m sorry about what that freak wrote on the wall. God, in my blood! You thought I wrote it. That’s my fault. I musta said your name when I was sick with the fever. Terrel used it against you. I’m sorry.”

Starsky sniffed and laughed softly. “Ain’t we a pair?”

“Don’t joke about this Starsky, you could have killed yourself. I suspect you nearly did.”

“You’re right, I almost pulled that trigger. Know what stopped me?”

Hutch was hoping he was wrong about how close it had been and his stomach rolled at Starsky’s admission. “What?”

“You did.” Starsky started speaking in a rush to get out his thoughts before Hutch could object or interrupt him. “I got to thinkin’ about you and what your face would look like if I got to Heaven and had to admit to you that I’d blown my own head off and I stopped.” He paused to take a breath and Hutch opened his eyes again, looking up at Starsky. “I couldn’t stand the thought that you’d be disappointed in me.” He dropped his eyes, ashamed that he had to admit all of this to Hutch.

Hutch reached up and touched Starsky’s cheek. “Don’t ever even think about suicide again. My heart can’t take it, buddy. I hate to think of you staring down the barrel of this gun and how close you came to pulling the trigger.”

Starsky nodded. “I ain’t gonna lie to you, Hutch. I wanted to die real bad.”

Hutch thought about the words he had heard Starsky say in the ER the morning he’d found him, “let me die.” He also vaguely remembered saying those words himself when he thought Starsky was gone and he had done nothing to save him. He dropped his hand tiredly. He owed it to Starsky to admit his own feelings. “I know. I felt the same way when I thought you were dead, and I hadn’t helped you. Get this straight, Starsk, I don’t care what happens to me, you’d better never….” Hutch stopped talking, his gaze so intense Starsky thought he could see right into his soul. Then, deciding a little levity would be okay, Hutch added, “I sure would hate to have to kick your butt in Heaven, buddy. Might damage my wings.”

Starsky laughed. “I really am sorry, Hutch. You shoulda never known about that. I know it hurts and I never want to be responsible for that.”

Hutch wasn’t done with his partner. He turned over on his back, looking up at Starsky. Starsky looked down at his friend’s bright eyes and knew he could refuse him no information. A Hutchinson interrogation could be steely, determined, or “I’m your friend, but watch out for him” in its style with common criminals. He only had to give the right look to his best friend to get any answers he wanted. Hutch thought about what a serious responsibility that kind of trust was.

“Buddy, Father Dolan said something to me that scared me. He said there were all kinds of ways to destroy yourself. Were you trying to die slowly out there?” The dark-haired man considered his answer for a little too long. Hutch reached for his hand and gently held it against his chest. “Truth time.”

“Yeah. I just didn’t care anymore.”

Hutch nodded his gratitude for Starsky’s candor. Knowing what he needed to know, he eased up on the interrogation. “I’m sorry for melting down on you like this, buddy.”

“Hutch, you’ve been strong for so long. I don’t know how you do it, man. Having to watch out for me must take all of your energy. Thank you for saving me. A few more nights sleeping on the streets and I might’ve just slipped over, buddy.” Once again, he had allowed his partner’s disarming manner to trick him into saying more than he should. Damn.

Hutch’s eyes narrowed and took on that Viking interrogator look again. “You slept on the streets? The doc said you might have, but are you telling me you really slept on the streets?”

“Um, I, well,” Starsky stammered, desperate to think of something that would explain that away. He soon gave up, though. “I’m sorry.”

Hutch put his finger up in the air, returning to his protective mode. Starsky winced at his buddy’s use of the “Hutchinson warning finger.” That was one of the most powerful weapons in the blond’s arsenal.

Starsky decided to save him the trouble. “Yeah, yeah, if I ever do anything like this again. Well, buddy, you’re gonna have to stand in line behind a certain scrawny barkeep who already laid claim to that duty.”

Hutch laughed. “Hey, whatdya say we make a promise that neither one of us believes the other one is dead if we don’t personally identify the body.” Starsky snorted a laugh at that. Then, playfully, Hutch put on his best English accent and quoted a line from one of Starsky’s favorite movies, “Uh, I’m-I’m not quite dead, sir.”

Starsky was stunned. “Your accent’s improving, Blondie. But do you know the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

Hutch furrowed his brow a little. Starsky was really much better at quoting from his beloved, “Monty Python and the Holy Grail.” He almost gave up, but looking at the anticipation in Starsky’s face finally prodded him to remember the appropriate response. “African, or European?”

Starsky started to giggle so hard, he began to cough and Hutch had to go get him a glass of water from the bathroom to help him recover. Then they sat on the floor together, leaning on each other, laughing, and feeling safe again for the first time in weeks. Starsky was relieved to see the Hutchinson storm he had anticipated had washed onto their shore and had retreated, leaving both of them feeling better.

Finally, Starsky remembered what he had planned to say when he walked out of the bathroom and had his momentary freak out that maybe Hutch had killed himself with Michael Starsky’s gun. “When we were driving to the cemetery this afternoon, I saw this cool drive-in called Elam’s. The signs said they actually make their own root beer. They had carhops and everything just like in the 50’s. How ’bout taking me over there for a Black Cow?”

Hutch looked at him incredulously, “A black what?”

“A Black Cow, dummy, don’t you know what that is?”

Hutch knew, but it was much more fun to feign ignorance. “Why would you want to eat a black cow? That sounds like a lot of food to me.”

Starsky couldn’t believe it. How could Hutch not know what a Black Cow was? He opened his mouth and started to explain when he caught the unmistakable glint of humor in Hutch’s eyes. He stopped and smiled at his partner.

“Starsk, I was a teenager once. I know a Black Cow is a root beer float. Now who’s the dummy?”

“I don’t care, ‘s long as you take me over there. How ’bout it, please?” Hutch could not resist that tone. He never could.

“Okay, but you go finish drying your hair. I’m not about to have you catch pneumonia while you’re still recovering. Then you’re going to bed early and for the night.” He scooted away so that his friend could get up off of the floor, but Starsky put a hand out and touched Hutch’s hair for just a moment first. Relapsing into one more moment of seriousness he said, “Thanks for not dyin’ on me, buddy. I need ya.”

Hutch responded with, “Same here, pal. Thanks for sticking around long enough for me to find you.” Satisfied that they had said all they needed to on the subject, Starsky got up and went to the bathroom to finish getting ready. Hutch looked up heavenward and said, “Thanks for listening. I owe you another one.”

~*~*~*~

Elam’s was all Starsky could have hoped for, with real live carhops and all the greasy food his heart desired. Hutch didn’t have the heart to refuse him whatever he wanted, though inside he recoiled at what his partner ordered. Fried shrimp. Onion rings AND French fries. A jumbo-sized Black Cow and a half-gallon of root beer to go. Hutch shuddered at the thought of what all that grease must be doing to his partner’s arteries, but Starsky downed it all like a starving man and looked like he was seriously considering ordering round two. Hutch confined himself to a hamburger — ‘plain — ‘and some of Starsky’s French fries.

Finally, Starsky crumpled up the paper and handed it all back to Hutch to put back on the tray. “Man, that was terrific,” he said blissfully. “Felt like I hadn’t eaten in a month.”

“You probably haven’t,” Hutch said, knowing it was closer to the truth than he wanted to think about.

“Not much, I guess.” Starsky noisily slurped up the rest of his Black Cow and handed Hutch the empty Styrofoam cup. “I just lose my appetite when….” He stopped.

“I know,” Hutch said, putting the cup back and hoping the carhop would come and get the tray before Starsky decided to order more grease. She finally did, and Hutch started the car. He backed out and turned toward Eldorado Street.

“Hey, let’s cruise, huh?” Starsky said. “I haven’t done that since I was a kid.”

“Are you nuts?” Hutch inquired. “Cruise? Aren’t we just a little old for that?”

“Aw, come on, Hutch. Mark said everybody did it when he was in high school.”

“That was years ago.”

“Well…” Starsky gave a one-shouldered shrug. “They still seem to be doin’ it.”

Hutch had to admit he was right. There was a steady stream of cars going back and forth and at this time on a Saturday night, it should’ve been nearly deserted. “All right,” he said, “but you ain’t pickin’ up no jailbait, pal, you got that?”

Starsky grinned, his eyes dancing with mischief, and put his hand over his heart. “On my honor, I won’t. I promise.”

Hutch turned left instead of right and followed the crowd down to the other end of the street, where they all drove through McDonald’s and back out again, heading the other way. He stuck with them until they started into the park, then he veered off toward the Holiday Inn. Starsky didn’t protest; in fact, he’d started yawning before they even made it to McDonald’s. “Tired, buddy?”

“Beat,” Starsky said, vainly trying to suppress another yawn.

“I’m taking you to bed,” Hutch said, not realizing how that sounded until Starsky dissolved into helpless laughter. “You know what I mean,” he said, pretending to be annoyed, though it felt good to hear Starsky laugh like that.

“I don’t think I’d be much fun for ya tonight, anyway,” Starsky said when he could speak again. “I’ll have to take a rain check.”

Hutch grinned at him, and by the time they got back to the hotel, he was yawning, too. He let Starsky have the bathroom first, and after he’d finished, Hutch made quick work of brushing his own teeth. When he came out, Starsky was sprawled on his back in one of the beds, already sound asleep. Hutch tiptoed over and pulled the covers over him, turned out the light, and got into bed. But he must not have been as quiet as he thought.

“Hutch?”

“Yeah?”

A long silence, then, so softly he almost missed it, “I love ya. ‘Night.”

“I love you back, Gordo. Now go to sleep.”

Starsky chuckled. “Mush pot.”

They spent a quiet day Sunday, mostly resting and watching old movies on television. Rather than take one of the small planes Huggy called “puddle jumpers” to St. Louis to catch a connecting flight for California the next day, they were going to drive to St. Louis so Hutch could return the rental car to the agency’s office at the airport there. And Hutch wasn’t too wild about the idea of flying on one of those planes, anyway. Too much like the one that had crashed en route to Guatemala. He didn’t tell Starsky that was the reason, but he could tell Starsky knew, anyway.

He’d already called Huggy earlier in the day to give him their flight number and arrival time, and he thought Huggy had sounded odd when he said he’d meet their plane. He’d been puzzling about it ever since.

He looked over at Starsky, half asleep and watching “60 Minutes.”

“Hey, you awake?”

“Kinda,” Starsky mumbled. “Whatcha want?”

Hutch grinned. “Huggy sounded very weird when I called to ask him to pick us up tomorrow.”

“So? What’s new about that?” Starsky kept his eyes on the screen.

Hutch sat up straighter and examined Starsky. “Okay. Spill it. What is it you don’t want me to know?”

Starsky shrugged. “Lotsa stuff I don’t want you to know. My high school algebra grade, what my first girlfriend’s tattoo looked like — ‘”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, partner.”

Starsky sighed and struggled into a sitting position. “I’m guessin’ Huggy’s wondering where you’re gonna stay.”

His apartment. It was gone. Hutch had known that, of course. His parents had told him. But he hadn’t had time to think about it or worry about what he was going to do about clothes and things since then.

“You tryin’ to tell me I can’t crash on your couch until I find a new apartment?” Hutch inquired.

“No, of course not. You know better’n that. ‘Cept I don’t have an apartment, either.”

“Why not?”

“I told Huggy to get rid of it all ’cause I wasn’t coming back. In the letter I left him.”

The letter. Hutch remembered the letter, though he tried not to think about it. “You don’t think he really did, do you?”

“I assumed he did….” Starsky frowned. “Maybe he didn’t.”

“Everybody was looking for you and determined to find you, buddy,” Hutch said. “I doubt Huggy followed instructions.”

“Then we can both stay at my place,” Starsky said. “Problem solved.”

Hutch devoutly hoped so.

Starsky was unnaturally quiet as they pulled into Lambert Airport the next day. He had sunk down in his seat and it was as if he was trying to disappear. Hutch noticed and considered saying something, then decided he’d be better off to let Starsky talk when he was ready. He turned in the car and the keys, signed the credit card receipt, and stuck it in his pocket. “Our terminal’s that way,” he said to Starsky, pointing. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far. Hutch’s leg had been hurting a lot all weekend, and he wasn’t up to a long walk.

“‘Kay,” Starsky said, hoisting the ever-present knapsack onto his shoulder and picking Hutch’s bag up with the other hand.

“I can get that,” Hutch protested, but Starsky shook his head.

“No way, partner. You got enough to do getting around on that bad leg. Why’n’t you got crutches, anyway? Whatcha doin’ hobbling around with a cane, Hopalong?”

Hutch chuckled. “I abandoned them at that hospital in Decatur. I think that’s where I abandoned them. Easier without them.”

“Sure it is. That’s why your face is pale and you’re sweatin’ on a day like this,” Starsky said. “Shut up and let me carry the bag, all right? You can be a White Knight tomorrow. Today it’s my turn.”

Damn. How does he always know? Hutch shook his head and led the way and Starsky followed, letting him set the pace. But as they approached the security check, Starsky’s steps slowed until he was almost stopped. Hutch paused and looked back. “What’s wrong?”

Starsky was the pale one now, and he caught up and hissed, “My dad’s gun. They won’t let me take it on.”

“Sure they will. You’re a cop.”

Starsky shook his head. “I resigned. Left my badge with Dobey.” He looked around to be sure they weren’t overheard. “Here. You take my bag through. You got your badge, don’t ya?”

Hutch had intended to save this moment for when they got back to Bay City, but he’d forgotten about Michael Starsky’s gun. He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and produced a worn leather case. “You might’ve resigned, partner, but you’re still a cop.”

Starsky took the badge and opened it, his eyes wide with wonder. “How’d you do that?”

Hutch shrugged. “Dobey didn’t turn in the paperwork. He gave that to me to keep for you. Like you kept my watch for me.”

Starsky looked up at Hutch and for a moment, Hutch was afraid they were going to have a “soapy scene” right here in this big, busy airport. But Starsky grinned instead and quietly said, “Thanks, buddy.”

It was a relief to sit down. Their plane wasn’t due to take off for a while, and that would give him a chance to rest his leg. Starsky set Hutch’s bag down in front of him, wordlessly picked Hutch’s cast up and set it on the bag to elevate it, then plopped down beside him. “Ready to talk yet, buddy?” Hutch said softly once they were settled.

“Huh?”

“Something’s eating you. Besides the gun,” Hutch said, pitching his voice even lower as a harried mother with a toddler and a baby sat down on Starsky’s other side.

Starsky shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was still favoring his right hand, Hutch noticed. “I didn’t have a good time last time I was in St. Louis,” he said, striving for a joking tone. It didn’t work.

“Is this where you slept on the street, Starsky?” Hutch demanded, softly but in a tone that Starsky wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Starsky sighed. “Yeah. Down by the riverfront.”

“Good God, Starsky, don’t you know how dangerous that was?” Hutch’s voice went up a notch in volume and the mother turned to look at them. Hutch manufactured a reassuring smile and she turned back to her kids.

“Yes,” Starsky hissed back. “But I didn’t have much of a choice, you know.”

Oh, God. Hutch closed his eyes, picturing that. Starsky so broke and down-and-out that he had no other choice.

“Hey,” Starsky said, putting a hand on Hutch’s shoulder. “It’s over. Forget it, huh?”

“I can’t forget it,” Hutch said. “I had nightmares about it last night. I keep thinking what could have happened — ‘”

“Hutch,” Starsky slid his arm around his shoulders and the mother gave them an odd look, picked up her baby and grabbed her toddler’s hand and moved away. Starsky looked after them with a puzzled expression, then turned back to Hutch. “You think too much,” he said, picking up right where he’d left off. “It’s okay now. You found me — ‘God knows how — ‘and we’re goin’ home. This,” he laid a hand on the cast, “will heal and so will this,” he shook his right hand under Hutch’s nose. “We made it. Again.”

“How many more times will we ‘make it,’ Starsk?” Hutch asked. “How long until our luck runs out and we don’t ‘make it’?”

“You can drive yourself crazy asking questions like that,” Starsky said. “Just be glad we made it this time.”

Hutch knew his partner was right. Wallowing in what ifs and self-doubt never made the job easier. All it did was create questions and hesitation where either of them could be deadly. Closing his eyes, he tried his best to let go of his apprehension. Dwelling on his friend’s slide into despair and all of its potential consequences was only bringing Hutch more pain. Knowing his partner had been on a self-destruct mission brought on by a feeling of ultimate loss weighed heavily on his heart. The best thing he could do to protect Starsky from ever going through something like this again would be to stay alive. Hutch smiled almost imperceptibly at the irony. Starsky noticed it. He also noticed that it was accompanied by a visible relaxation of tension in Hutch. That pleased him.

Starsky had been dealing with his own feelings of guilt — ‘quietly concerned that his brush with disaster would cause Hutch to worry about him more than ever. Now that he was on the mend, he knew it was time for him to gently switch the focus of attention to Hutch and helping him heal. He promised himself he was going to take over and make sure Hutch had everything he needed to rebuild his life when they got back to Bay City.

While they waited for their flight, Hutch dozed and Starsky maintained a watchful eye on him. He knew Hutch had pushed his leg too hard and the pain was showing on his face, even in his sleep. He was feeling sorry for Hutch that he was about to have to force himself into an airplane seat with inadequate legroom for anyone who wasn’t a member of the Lollypop Guild. Starsky looked at their tickets and was unhappy to see that their seat numbers were so high they were going to have to walk to the back of the plane. He looked toward the gate and noticed a gate attendant trying to get his attention. The pretty brunette was motioning for him to come to the desk. He pointed at himself and mouthed, “Me?” She nodded and smiled brightly.

Starsky looked over at Hutch and quietly stole away from him making sure not to wake the sleeping man. He walked over to the desk and smiled at the woman behind it. Resting his arms on the counter, he said, “You need to talk to me?”

“So what’s the story with you and your blond friend over there?” she asked. Starsky was puzzled and his eyebrows went up inquisitively as he responded, “Huh?”

She tapped his wrist brace with her pen and said, “You look like the walking wounded.”

Starsky laughed at that. “Oh, that. We’re Bay City cops. We’ve just had a little too much adventure lately.”

“Your friend there looks kind of uncomfortable.”

Starsky wondered how long she had been watching them. “Yeah. He’s been pushing it trying to take care of me. Uh, I’ve been sick.”

She saw that he still had their tickets in his hand. “Give me those tickets.” Starsky was surprised at her order, but he did it. She made some changes and gave them back to him. “This flight is nowhere near full. I upgraded you both to First Class. He’ll be a lot more comfortable there. The seats even have footrests.”

Starsky was stunned by her kindness. When she handed him the tickets, he took her hand and pulled it toward him so he could kiss it. “Thanks, angel.” She blushed several shades of pink and scarlet as she watched the handsome man walk back to his friend. Some days, she loved her job.

When they called First Class over the loud speaker, Starsky patted Hutch on the arm and said, “Come on, Blondie, they’re playing our song.”

“What?” Hutch blinked at him and heard the flight announcement calling for First Class again. Starsky was already on his feet gathering their things. Hutch said, “Wait up, Starsk, they’re not gonna call us for a little while yet.”

“Guess again, buddy.” Starsky held out the tickets so Hutch could read that they were now flying First Class.

Hutch’s eyes grew bigger and he said, “How’d you do that?” He knew Starsky didn’t have any money to upgrade their tickets.

Starsky pointed at the gate attendant, busy with another passenger, and said, “We have an angel today. Don’t ask why, just get on and fly.” He playfully punched Hutch in the arm. As they passed the gate desk, the brunette waved at them and smiled.

The flight was completely uneventful. Hutch was able to stretch out and rest and Starsky thoroughly enjoyed the attention paid to them by the flight attendants. He even managed to collect some phone numbers for them to use when they were feeling better. One of the flight attendants was obviously smitten with his golden-haired partner. Starsky chuckled to himself, wondering how Hutch could have that effect on a lady when all he did was nap. He mused that it must be that little boy look he got when he slept. The fact that he made that slight pain face every now and then was probably icing on the cake.

~*~*~*~

They walked off the plane to find not only Huggy waiting for them, but Captain Dobey and his wife, Edith. Huggy shook hands with both men, beaming at the joy of having them back safe.

Dobey gave each of his boys a hug. “Glad to have you both back home where you belong.”

That’s when Edith Dobey moved in on both of them. First, she hugged Hutch and said, “Ken, you’re looking pretty tired and you probably shouldn’t be walking on that leg yet. I made you an appointment with your orthopedic doctor for tomorrow. See to it that you go.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek gently.

Then Edith turned toward Starsky. He was embarrassed to face her, knowing the worry he had caused all of his friends. She gathered him in her arms and kissed his cheek, tears filling her eyes. “Dave, I’m so happy you’re safe. You scared us half to death and you’d better never do anything like that again.”

Starsky hung his head and softly said, “No, ma’am. I won’t.”

She put a finger under his chin and tipped his face up so she could look into his eyes. Edith smiled at him and gave him another kiss on the cheek. “Welcome home, David.”

They all got into Captain Dobey’s car and both Starsky and Hutch were curious to see where they would go. Both men were surprised when Dobey turned the car toward Venice and eventually parked on the street below Venice Place.

Dobey turned toward the back seat and held up a key saying, “Welcome home, Hutch.”

“Wait a minute. Starsky said my parents let my place go.”

Edith smiled back at him. “Come on up, Ken, I’ll explain.”

While Hutch was in Illinois, his mother had returned from Europe and returned to Bay City. Together, she, Huggy, and the Dobeys had worked hard to ensure that Hutch had a home to return to when the time came. Venice Place was still being painted and hadn’t been rented yet. The landlady was delighted to hear that her favorite tenant was not dead and would be returning. Many of Hutch’s furnishings and household items were still at the charity shop and they were able to retrieve them. Mrs. Hutchinson had restocked the pantry and bought all new plants for the greenhouse. They picked up a few items of clothing for Hutch. Huggy was even able to get some of his old clothes from Starsky’s place. Hutch couldn’t believe it and he stood in the greenhouse turning around and smiling. The shy smile turned into a full grin when he spotted his guitar sitting on a chair in the greenhouse with a card slipped under the strings. Opening the card, Hutch read a note from Kiko that said he was glad Hutch was back and he had taken good care of his guitar for him.

“I-I don’t know how to thank you all.” Hutch said. “Where’s Mom?”

Edith answered, “Oh, she had to rush back to Minnesota. Your sister had the baby.”

Hutch turned white and said in a rush, “Oh, my God, my sister! Is she okay? I completely forgot. What did she have?”

Edith chuckled. “She’s fine. She understands and sends her love. The baby is a girl and they named her Laura Elizabeth. Steve called and said to give them a call when you can. They already brought the baby home.”

Hutch smiled. “That’s great. I’ll call them tonight.” Starsky congratulated him.

Hutch hugged Edith again and thanked her for her kindness. He was overwhelmed.

Huggy handed him a set of keys. “We didn’t get you a car yet. Thought you’d want to do that yourself. You can borrow the Caddy ’til you take care of that and the Torino is down at Merle’s. He’s putting a new battery in it for Starsk and making sure everything’s running.”

Both men said, “Thanks, Hug.”

Captain Dobey looked at Starsky. “You’re looking pretty tired yourself. We’ll take you home. The ladies made sure your place was ready for you, too. They were busy.”

Starsky shook his head. “Thanks, Cap’n. Thanks to all of you for everything, but I’m gonna stay here with Hutch until he loses that cast.”

Huggy smiled at him. “Thought you might feel that way. I brought some of your clothes over here just in case. They’re in the closet.”

Knowing how tired they both were, Huggy and the Dobey’s left them to rest. They would all get together for dinner the next night to celebrate their safe return. As they were leaving, Edith turned around and said, “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Dave, you have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, too, with your hand surgeon. You’re both supposed to be down there for your appointments at two. Don’t be late.”

When the door was closed behind her, Starsky and Hutch looked at each other and laughed. They were both amazed at the trouble their friends had gone to for them. Starsky said, “I’m glad to be home, Hutch.”

They were just about to sit down for some rest and to drink a couple of the beers their friends had stocked for them when the phone rang. Hutch jumped, not expecting it.

“Hello?” He stared at Starsky tentatively, then his eyes grew wide and he started to look a little nervous. Starsky paid close attention for a moment to make sure everything was all right. When he realized it was Hutch’s sister, he retreated to the bathroom to take a shower and give Hutch some private phone time with her. He could hear what sounded like a dressing down coming from the Minnesota end of the conversation as he walked past Hutch who was attempting to stammer answers in occasionally. Starsky shut the bathroom door behind him with a chuckle.

“K-Karen?” Hutch said. She kept talking over him.

“What’s the idea, big brother? You don’t know what a phone is?” She sounded so angry, Hutch cringed, feeling guilty he had forgotten to call.

“Karen? I, I, um….” he tried, but was getting nowhere.

“I was worried sick about you. Bad enough I thought you were dead, and it nearly killed me, then to hear you were back but out running around the country, sick and hurt.”

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Hutch said.

“YOU’RE SORRY?!” She yelled at him. “Steve finally admitted to me what was happening with David. Wait ’til I get my hands on the two of you. You are both so gonna get it. I was frightened for both of you.” Karen was starting to wind down from her tirade.

Hutch tried again, speaking soothingly. “Karen, I really am sorry. Please listen to me. Forgive me for being such a bad brother, huh? I should have called.”

She started to cry. “Oh, I’m sorry, big brother. I was just so worried. You really should have called to tell me you were all right. We called Captain Dobey and he said you were fine, but I didn’t believe him.”

“How’s the baby?” he asked.

“Don’t change the subject, and she’s perfect. I can’t wait for you to see her.”

“Karen, you know I can’t talk to Mom and Dad about any of this. You have to promise me you won’t tell them anything.”

“You know I won’t. Always best to keep it gray with the folks, Kenny.”

They had a nice talk. Hutch told her enough about his ordeal in Mexico and what happened with Starsky to make her understand how important his absence had been. Starsky had turned off the shower in favor of a soak in the tub. Now that the water was off, Starsky couldn’t help but overhear Hutch’s half of the conversation through the bathroom door.

“Yeah, he’s looking a lot better. Still way too thin though.”

“Do you think he’ll be all right, Ken?” Karen had always loved Starsky. She appreciated the way he looked out for her brother and Hutch loved him so much that made her feel the same way.

“I think so. He’s tough stuff. I was pretty scared, Karen. I really am sorry I didn’t call. I was just running on fumes out there. You know, at the end of my rope.”

Starsky cringed at some of the things he heard. Knowing he had brought so much worry to his partner hurt him. He promised himself he’d do whatever he had to do to make Hutch feel better again.

“I came really close to losing him, sis.” Hutch’s voice was thick with emotion. “He was hurt and grieving and just not thinking straight. I’m so glad he’s okay. What if he had died out there?”

“Ken, you did fine. I’m sorry I yelled at you. You gonna be okay?” She was still worried about her brother.

“I’ll be fine. I just want him to get back to normal, you know?” Hutch laughed at his own comment. “Well, as normal as my crazy partner gets anyway.”

Karen laughed, enjoying hearing a touch of lightness creep back into her brother’s voice. “You sound tired. I’ll let you go. Tell that partner of yours I’ve got some words for him. I expect you to both come out for the christening next month. We’re holding it off so you can come when you’re all better. I already took care of you. I’ll wait till then to read him the riot act.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be looking forward to that. Good night, sis. Give the folks my love and kiss the baby for me, huh?”

“I will. Take care of yourself and David too. I’ll see you next month. I love you, Kenny.”

“I love you, too, Karen.” Hutch felt a little lonely when he hung up the phone. He missed talking to his sister and decided he’d try to call more often. He hobbled into the kitchen to make some coffee.

Standing in the bathroom, Starsky stared at himself in the steamy mirror. Hutch was right. He was still too thin. Hutch didn’t have a scale, but he guessed he still had ten or fifteen pounds to regain. That would take time. He grimaced at how tired he looked and decided it was time to shave off the beard and mustache he had grown on his journey. Maybe Hutch would start feeling a little better if he looked more like his old self.

When he was finished shaving and he pulled the towel down from his face, he was shocked at how thin his face looked without the extra fur on it. Thinking maybe it was a bad idea after all, but having no way to undo it, he pulled on the robe he found hanging on the back of the door and walked out of the bathroom to face Hutch.

Hearing the door open, Hutch called to him from the kitchen. “Hey, buddy, I made us some coffee. Come on in here and get a cup.”

Starsky walked in and said, “Thanks.”

Hutch looked up at Starsky and noted two things at once. The first was that the beard was gone, the second, how thin he really was. His face changed from a pleasantly surprised smile at Starsky’s smoothly shaven face to a look of worry in a heartbeat. Starsky noticed.

“I know, maybe my ugly mug looked better with a winter coat on it.” He tried to make a joke of it, reaching for his coffee. Hutch put a hand on Starsky’s and stopped his progress. He stared at Starsky for a moment and then tried to cover his dismay by announcing he hadn’t put in the sugar yet.

Starsky smiled and tried to put Hutch at ease. “Well, throw some in there and let’s get you back off your feet.” He turned toward the refrigerator. “Bet Edith left us something for dinner. I’m starving. I’m so hungry, I could eat the south bound end of a north bound gorilla.”

Hutch laughed in spite of his worry. “That sounds pretty hungry. What’s in there?”

Edith had left them a pot of soup they just needed to heat. Starsky was glad to see she hadn’t left a casserole. He wasn’t sure he would ever eat casserole — ‘or tuna — ‘again.

Starsky felt uncomfortable under Hutch’s watchful gaze. He was supposed to be taking care of Hutch now. “Uh, Blondie, maybe you should take a picture. It’d last longer.”

Hutch blushed. “I’m sorry. Guess I was just shocked to see you shaved off the beard.”

“I know I look thin, buddy. I’m workin’ on it, okay? Don’t worry so much. Now go get off your leg and I’ll bring you some soup.”

The phone rang again after they’d finished eating and were settling down to see if there was anything worth watching on the tube. Hutch leaned over and picked it up. Starsky had found a creature feature on the late show and was too absorbed to notice his partner’s expression change. He looked up, however, when he heard Hutch say, “Sure, Rachel, he’s right here.”

Starsky’s eyebrows went up and he wildly shook his head, but Hutch hadn’t held out the phone and wasn’t looking at him.

“He’s gonna be fine, honest. I’m taking care of him.”

Who’s taking care of whom? Starsky thought, frowning fiercely at his blond partner, who still hadn’t looked at him.

“It’s a long, long story that’s probably best saved for an in-person visit,” Hutch said. A moment later, he laughed. “I know. They don’t make ’em much more stubborn, do they?” He laughed again. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Another pause, longer this time. “I know how to make matzo balls,” Hutch said. “You taught me last Passover, remember? In fact, mine are better than Starsky’s…I will. I promise. Okay, Rachel. Thanks. Here he is.” Hutch looked up at last and held out the phone, and when Starsky shook his head and made “no, no” motions with his hands, Hutch covered the mouthpiece and said, “If I can take a tongue-lashing from my baby sister, partner, you can damn well talk to your mom. Take the damn phone.”

Starsky sighed and took the phone. “Hi, Ma.”

“Don’t you ‘Hi, Ma’ me, young man. If I was there, you’d be across my knee right now!”

Starsky raised his eyes to Hutch, who was trying hard not to laugh. And not succeeding very well, at that. “Ma, come on. I’m okay. Hutch is okay. Everything’s fine.”

“No thanks to you, David Michael,” she said tartly. “What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Starsky said honestly. “I was just — ”

“Just like your father,” she interrupted. “He always crawled off to lick his wounds alone, too. Now you listen to me.”

Starsky took a sip of his beer and settled in for a long one. “Listen to me” always preceded a long lecture.

“You have no idea how many people were frantic with worry while you were gone,” she said. “Me, your brother, your captain, your friend Huggy, and not least of all, your partner, who had no business running halfway across the country looking for you!”

Hutch leaned back and took a drink of his beer, too. His eyes were dancing. Starsky stuck his tongue out at him.

“You’d just better remember one thing,” she said.

When she didn’t continue, Starsky was intrigued enough to ask, “What?” His mother never, ever gave him a chance to say anything when she was on a jag.

“A lot of people love you dearly,” she said, her voice softening. “Not just Ken, although God knows he loves you more than his own life. But he’s not the only one. And I want you to remember that in the future. If you need anything, you have a lot of people to turn to. Do you understand that, David?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said. “I know that. I knew it before, but I understand it now.”

“Good. Now, I know you’re tired, so I’ll let you go. You rest and you eat, understand me?”

“I understand.”

“Good night, hon.”

“Night, Ma.” Starsky hung up the phone and tossed a sofa pillow at Hutch, who had given up trying to suppress his laughter. “Okay, now we’ve both been chewed out by our families. Anyone else planning to call and rag on us?”

“I think we’re done. At least, I hope so,” Hutch said.

~*~*~*~

Both of them slept very, very late the next morning, and it was almost noon before Starsky even stirred and managed to start coffee. Hutch was still sacked out cold in his bed. Starsky peeked in at him and tiptoed away again, knowing if he was still that sound asleep, he needed the rest. He quietly took the newspaper out of the hallway and took it and his coffee out to the greenhouse.

There was a story on page three announcing that the “missing officer” had been found in Illinois, without going into much detail. Starsky figured that was Dobey’s work. The story didn’t say that he’d been hitch hiking or running away, for which Starsky was grateful. It had been written by Jim Clark, a young reporter they’d encountered before. Without actually saying so, the article suggested that Starsky had only gone off on an extended leave in order to deal with his grief when he thought his partner dead, but when Hutch turned up safe, he’d been located and informed of that fact and had come back to Bay City, safe and sound.

The phone rang, and Starsky dropped the newspaper and bounded out to the living room to grab it before it woke Hutch.

“Dave, is that you?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said cautiously. He didn’t immediately recognize the voice.

“Joe Haymes,” the man said. “How’re you two boys doing?”

“We’re gonna be fine,” Starsky said.

“Good. Glad to hear it. I’ll bet you need a rest, though, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Starsky said. He looked up to find Hutch standing in the opening between the living room and his bedroom alcove, very rumpled, but awake. He covered the receiver. “It’s Joe Haymes,” he said with a questioning rise of his eyebrows. Hutch frowned, puzzled.

“I want to offer you boys my beach house for a long weekend,” Haymes went on. “We won’t be using it, and I’d like you to stay there for a few days. Dobey okayed it.”

“Mr. Haymes, we can’t — ‘”

“Yes, you can. I’ve always felt I owed you boys a big favor, and it would ease my mind — ‘and your captain’s — ‘to know you were really relaxing and getting your strength back.”

“Lemme check with Hutch.”

“Sure. I’m at my office.”

Starsky hung up and said, “He wants us to stay at his beach house for a few days. He said Dobey okayed it.”

“That sounds good,” Hutch said, and there was a note of longing in his voice that he didn’t realize was there, but Starsky heard it. He felt more than a little guilty, thinking of what he’d put Hutch through — ‘after what Hutch had already been through. Starsky wanted nothing more than for the two of them to hole up here, in familiar surroundings, and hide out from everyone for a while. Still, he thought he owed it to Hutch to take him to the beach, if that’s where he wanted to go.

“I’ll call him and say yes, then,” Starsky said.

By the next day, they had moved to Haymes’ beach house in Malibu. It was a beautiful place, with a deck that ran all the way around the house, three light, airy bedrooms, windows opening out onto every side, and a stretch of private beach. The kitchen and bar were both well stocked, and they had nothing to do but enjoy themselves. Hutch couldn’t swim because of the cast, but he spent a great deal of time lounging on the deck and reading, while Starsky walked on the beach or took short swims as he regained his color and his strength. The two of them also spent a lot of time just talking, catching each other up on everything that had happened while they were apart. Finally, after holding so much back in order to spare the other one worry, they shared all the details, shed some tears, laughed sometimes, and in the end, both felt at peace.

Both of them had received good news from their doctors. Hutch’s leg was healing well, despite the stress he had put on it while searching for his partner. His doctor said he could get the cast off in two weeks and would be ready to return to active duty after some physical therapy. His other injuries were healed or healing.

Starsky’s prognosis was also excellent although more complicated. His dominant left hand was in good shape. All it needed was some physical therapy. The doctor in Decatur had told him he might need additional surgery on the right wrist, but his Bay City doctor was less concerned about that. Another few weeks in a wrist brace and significant physical therapy should be enough to repair the damage. While Hutch would be ready for active duty in a few weeks, Starsky would require another six to eight weeks. Captain Dobey had agreed to let them both return to desk duty when Hutch was ready until the doctor cleared Starsky for active duty. He was planning to return to the firing range for practice in another week. That physical therapy concerned Starsky the most. Being able to do his job and protect his partner was uppermost in his mind. The events of the past couple of months had been their biggest test of “who do we trust time.” Me and Thee, buddy. Just like always.

The last day they were at Joe’s house, they sat together on the back deck watching the sun set on the horizon. The ocean was calm that evening, small breakers softly lapping onto the sand. The fog was just starting to roll in and a damp chill settled on the two friends.

“Hey,” Starsky said quietly.

“Hey.”

“Nice of Haymes to let us stay here, huh?”

“Yep.”

They sat in silence for long minutes until the sun had slipped away completely. “Red sky at night….” Hutch said, letting his voice trail off softly.

“Huh?”

“Gonna be a pretty day tomorrow,” Hutch replied.

“Oh yeah? How’dya figure?”

“Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky a mornin’, sailors take warning. Just an old saying.”

Starsky smiled. He loved it when Hutch was introspective like that. Usually, when his partner started quoting lines of poetry it was a sign he had regained his center. Balance was important to Hutch.

Realizing he was being stared at, Hutch asked, “What?”

“Nothin’, buddy.”

Hutch turned around on his deck chair to face Starsky. “Oh, no you don’t. What’s on your mind?”

“I was just thinking how nice it is to see you lookin’ so relaxed. You ready to go back home tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Sure has been great out here, but I’m looking forward to it. I want to work in the greenhouse, get to know my new jungle. God, I can’t believe Mom and Edith did that for me.”

“Really. Hey, when you want to go look for a new car?” Starsky asked with a smile.

“Guess I do have to take care of that. I don’t want to keep Huggy’s Caddy for too long.”

“Now that I know you can afford a better car, how ’bout you get somethin’ new that won’t break down on you all the time?”

Hutch felt uncomfortable having anyone know he had money. He wasn’t into material things and he preferred a low-key lifestyle. “I don’t know, Starsk. That just wouldn’t be me. I like my beater cars. They have character.”

“Yeah, I remember. Inner flash.” They both laughed, remembering Hutch telling Merle the Earl he needed a car with some inner flash, right before his battered LTD nearly flew apart in the alley outside Merle’s.

“Okay, you got me on that. How ’bout we go out after your physical therapy tomorrow?”

“Great! We can start at Merle’s if you don’t want something new.” Starsky looked excited.

“I’m not gonna let you talk me into anything that glows in the dark, mush brain, so you might as well get used to that idea right now.”

Starsky laughed. “I don’t know, partner. I was imagining a midnight blue metal flake low-rider with flame paint and lights in the wheel wells. That, or something tasteful in a late model sedan — ‘gray, white, or that sexy California tan.”

“Hold on to that last thought. You might have something there.”

Hutch noticed Starsky starting to shiver. He knew his buddy would stay outside with him as long as he wanted to be out there. “You’re freezing. Let’s go in and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

As they walked into the house, Hutch said, “You’re right, buddy. Sure is good to be home. I don’t plan on taking any more around the country tours. Make sure you stay where I can keep an eye on you, huh? Might have to kick your butt if you do anything like that again.”

“I hear ya. You stay alive and I won’t need to go anywhere. Deal?”

“Deal.”