Two Sides of the Coin

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It wasn’t just any coin, it was Starsky’s lucky coin.

Heads, I go; tails, I stay…. Tails. Hmm.

 

Written for Margie; in response to the “Feedback Follies” challenge posted on the “Love of Me and Thee” Group.

Whipped into shape by the awesomeness that is Jojosimco, Little_Tristan, and especially True_Brit, Drabbler Extraordinaire. All remaining errors were perpetrated by the muse after the fact.

---

Hutch balanced the six-pack and pizza carefully in one hand before knocking on the door. He waited a few seconds, but when nothing happened, he knocked a little louder, and called out, “Starsky, it’s me!”

From somewhere in the apartment, he heard his partner’s muffled voice. “It’s open.”

Hutch opened the door and walked into the aftermath of a cyclone.

At least, that’s what it looked like. The normally immaculate living room was a mess. Cushions were scattered haphazardly around the room, the coffee table was askew, and the newspapers and mail, usually neatly stacked on it, were strewn on the floor. Hutch felt an icy finger run down his spine.

“Starsky!” Hutch dropped their dinner on the coffee table and ran through the apartment. He reached Starsky’s bedroom, and found his partner head first in the clothes hamper.

At the pounding of footsteps, Starsky straightened up. “Hey, Hutch,” he said distractedly.

Starsky appeared to be fine, and Hutch blew out a breath of relief. He leaned against the door jamb and said, “Shit, you scared the hell outta me, Starsk. What hap—”

He stopped as he took in the state of the bedroom. It, too, looked like a disaster area—worse than the living room, in fact. The bed was stripped, and the sheets and pillows were tossed into a pile in the corner. Dirty laundry was spread out around Starsky, and he had more clutched in his hands from his dive into the hamper.

“Babe, what’s going on?”

“I can’t find it.”

“Can’t find what?”

“My lucky coin. You know the one.”

Hutch did indeed. Starsky was always fiddling with it, a half-dollar piece that he never seemed to be without. “Is that all? You’re turning your place upside-down to find fifty cents?” He was unprepared for the angry glare that was turned on him.

“Whaddya mean, ‘is that all‘? It’s not just any fifty cents, it’s my lucky coin.” He shook the shirt he was holding, and checked its pockets. “I gotta find it.” Coming up empty, he threw it down. “Fuck!”

“Hey, take it easy.” Hutch didn’t know why this was such a big deal to Starsky, but it obviously was, so he got down to business. “We’ll find it. Where did you see it last?” He glanced around the room, but there didn’t appear to be a nook or cranny that hadn’t already been searched.

“‘M not sure. Coulda sworn I had it just yest—” Starsky stopped and Hutch turned back to see why.

Starsky had turned out the front pockets on a pair of jeans, and was now staring at a hole in one of them.

“Oh, no….” He stood there for a moment, fingering the ripped seam. “Damn it!” He dropped the pants, picked up the hamper, and upended it, spilling out the remainder of its contents. He knelt down and quickly pawed through the clothes. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Starsky went through the pile twice before he gave up and sat back on his heels. He seemed despondent, almost comically so. Hutch might have thought his leg was being pulled, were it not for the angry outburst a minute earlier. That had not been a joke.

Hutch sat on the floor next to Starsky. “Did you check in your car? Maybe it fell out in there.”

Starsky nodded glumly. “First place I looked.”

“Want to check my car?”

“Nah, it wouldn’t be in there. These are the jeans I wore yesterday, and I wasn’t in your car at all yesterday. Besides,” he snorted half-heartedly, “if it did fall out in there, your car’s eaten it by now. I’d never find it.”

“Real funny, dirtball.” Actually, Hutch was grateful for the wisecrack. It meant Starsky was beginning to bounce back. “Speaking of eating, pizza’s getting cold and beer’s getting warm. What say we do something about that?” He grabbed Starsky’s arm and levered them both to their feet.

“‘Kay.” As they stepped into the living room, Starsky sniffed and said, “Hey, I don’t smell anchovies and pineapple, buddy. There better be anchovies and pineapple on my half!”

###

The pizza did, in fact, have the requisite fish and fruit, and they polished it off while watching the Friday Night Creature Feature; a double feature, both oldies: Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man and House of Frankenstein. As they ate, Starsky kept sneaking sidelong glances over at Hutch.

Long legs stretched out in front of him, beer can held loosely in his hand, his partner was the picture of nonchalance, but Starsky wasn’t fooled. Just because Hutch hadn’t said a word about Starsky’s earlier outburst or his odd behavior didn’t mean shit. He knew better than to think the matter was forgotten or dropped. Hutch had the tenacity of a bulldog, especially when it came to prying things out of his best friend, even things which the aforementioned best friend would rather have left un-pried.

When the second movie ended, Starsky made a big production of yawning and stretching, but Hutch simply ignored the act and asked, “So, you ready to talk about it?”

“No,” Starsky mumbled, drawing a sympathetic smile from Hutch. Sympathetic, but unyielding.

Hutch shifted position on the couch to face Starsky directly, and looked at him with that clear-eyed gaze that cut through all the bluff and the bullshit. In that gaze was the connection that Starsky had come to rely on since they’d become partners a few months ago. Born from the easy rapport they’d established at the Academy, it was becoming a silent language all their own. On the streets, it was invaluable, as essential to his job as his gun and his badge. Off the clock, though, it meant it was getting harder and harder to maintain space apart from his friend.

All his life, Starsky had kept a piece of himself hidden away and walled off. A tough childhood, a brief stint in a street gang, and a couple of tours in Vietnam had combined to teach him a hard lesson: protect the soft underbelly at all costs, show no weakness. He’d learned the lesson well, adopting a casually cheerful front that effectively kept the world at arm’s length, barricading his feelings from those who might use them against him. No one could get in close enough to hurt; no one could get close, period. It was a grim trade-off, yet one that hadn’t mattered much to Starsky, truth be told. He’d been burned enough. There were few who would have given a damn about him, anyway.

But it was different with this man. Hutch did give a damn. He had a thoughtful, caring side to him that rarely showed itself to the outside observer, but could be glimpsed in the way he dealt with people on their beat, especially the most defenseless ones. The homeless, the runaways, the hookers—they all had a protector in Hutch, whether they wanted one or not.

Combine that innate compassion with a protectiveness of partner that went above and beyond mere words, and yeah, Hutch was in, all the way in. Inside the wall, right where Starsky lived. He’d never wanted anyone that close, that deep, before. But he’d never known anyone like Hutch before, either.

If he was honest with himself, Starsky had to admit he’d only put up a token resistance before allowing Hutch to breach his outer defenses. Long, monotonous hours spent cooped up in a patrol car had had that effect. He’d found himself dredging up all the minutiae of his childhood: the names of his best pals in 3rd grade (Bobo Rakowski and Frankie Palmas), his first boy-girl dance partner (Myra Lipmann), and his first kiss (Myra, behind Hartl’s Drug Store). In turn, Starsky learned about Hutch’s Sea Scout buddies (Denny Millhouse and Gordon Chalmers), his first crush (Becky Haugen), and the first time he got to second base (Karen Haugen, Becky’s older sister).

In time, trivia had given way to more personal, private things. Hutch spoke about his rocky marriage and his strained relationship with his father, while Starsky described his mixed feelings about being sent away by his mother to live with relatives he hardly knew. The good memories and the bad: they were shared, laughed or commiserated over as they covered their beat, day in and day out. They knew almost everything about each other.

Almost.

###

“Mikey, I’m begging you. If you don’t get the union to toe the line, one of these days….”

“Save your breath, Joe. God knows I know I’m no saint, but there are some things I just won’t do, not even for you.”

“You think I’m asking you to do this for me? I’m trying to look out for you and yours, Mikey. Rachel, you gotta talk some sense into this guy.”

“It’s no use, Joey. He’s got his mind made up. He’s as bull-headed as you are, you know that.”

“You’re crazy, the pair of you. You don’t realize how serious this is. Old ties are only gonna carry you so far. I’m doing what I can, but I won’t be able to protect you forever. I don’t have the clout.”

“We don’t want that kind of protection anyway. It comes with too many strings.”

“Michael…”

“Stay out of this, Rachel. Maybe you don’t have the clout yet, Joe, but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it? You don’t want to be just a player, you want to run the outfit. Then what happens to old friends that get in your way, huh?”

“Shh! Little pitchers….”

“Hey, Davey!”

“Uncle Joey! I thought that was you.”

“Oh, did I wake you up? I’m sorry, kid.”

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I, ah, had something important to discuss with your folks.”

“Davela, you go on back to bed. It’s late.”

“Aw, Ma. Can’t I stay up for a little while? I want to talk to Uncle Joey.”

“You heard your mother, son. Go to your room.”

“Wait, Davey, I got something for you… here, here’s a half-dollar. One for you, one for Nicky.”

“Wow!”

“It’ll bring you luck.”

“Really?”

“Sure, it just made you fifty cents richer, didn’t it?”

“Gee, thanks, Uncle Joey.”

“You’re welcome. We all need a little luck, sometimes.”

###

Hutch had to wait until the rest of the six-pack was gone before Starsky began, haltingly:

“My Uncle Joey gave me that coin when I was just a kid. Whenever I couldn’t make up my mind about something, I’d flip it to help me decide. I carried it everywhere. I took it with me when I moved out here from New York, and I made damn sure I had it with me when I shipped out to ‘Nam. I knew I’d need every bit of luck I could get over there.

“In-country, a lot of soldiers had good-luck charms: rabbits’ feet, four-leaf clovers, stuff like that. One grunt—he was from Kentucky, I think—carried around an honest-to-God horseshoe.” Starsky gave a short, humorless laugh. “Of course, just because you had a charm didn’t mean you were charmed. The horseshoe guy went home in a bag. So did a lot of others. Still, in a place like that, you gotta have something to hold on to, or you go crazy. I held on to that coin of mine, real tight.”

Starsky paused, and Hutch could tell he was seeing the others, the ones who hadn’t made it, who’d died clutching their talismans as they fell. Hutch closed his eyes, and saw them too.

“There was this one time, my squad, we were crossing an open field. I was about two-thirds of the way across when the guy on point blew up. Landmine.”

Hutch laid his hand on Starsky’s shoulder. The muscles under his fingers stiffened instantly. Hutch squeezed hard, drawing Starsky’s eyes to him. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Starsky shuddered and swallowed hard. He reached up and grabbed Hutch’s hand in a bruising grip.

“Shit, Hutch, I was so scared. I’d never actually seen what one of those fuckers could do before. Now, I… I had pieces of him on me. Oh God, the smell….”

Hutch struggled for outward calm, even though inside, he was anything but. Starsky rarely spoke about his stint in the Army, other than to complain in general about stupid crap: basic training, the chow, the marching. Not one word about what it had really been like. Hutch hadn’t pushed him for any details, figured if his normally garrulous partner didn’t want to talk about it at all, it must’ve been bad, but this….

“Sarge was yelling something, trying to keep us from freaking out, I guess. Part of me didn’t want to move, ever; the other part wanted to take off running, out of that field, out of the Army, out of the war. And if that meant I went out out like Martinez, well, I remember thinking that at least it’d be quick, and I wouldn’t be scared anymore.”

“Starsk….” Hutch could barely breathe.

Starsky smiled a little, a pale imitation of his usual grin that faded quickly. “It’s not like I had a death wish or anything, Hutch. I was just so damned tired of being afraid. That kind of panic, it messes with your head, makes you think things you never would, otherwise.

“I’m not sure how long I was frozen there. It felt like forever, but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Then all of a sudden, I knew what I had to do. I pulled out my coin, and started flipping it. Heads, step right; tails, step left.”

Hutch’s heart skipped a beat.

“I walked out of that minefield without a scratch. We all did. No one else died that day. We were never sure if we were the luckiest bastards this side of the Mekong, or if there had only been the one mine. Both seemed just as impossible to us, but who the fuck knows?

“The rest of my time in, I wasn’t afraid anymore. Well, not like that, anyway. Kind of stupid, I guess, huh, putting that much trust in a little piece of silver?” He looked a little sheepish, but Hutch shook his head.

“Whatever it took to get you through that kind of hell… not stupid, babe, no way.”

Starsky released his grip on Hutch. Hutch’s fingers ached, but then again, Starsky’s shoulder probably did, too. Starsky leaned away, towards the coffee table to snag his beer. Hutch knew it was empty, but he let go and settled back on his end of the couch. Starsky rolled the can between his hands, back and forth.

“Well then, how’s this for stupid? You know who Joe Durniak is?”

“Durniak?” Hutch frowned as his brain shifted gears. “Wait…. The East Coast mob boss?”

“Yeah, him. Joe Durniak, A.K.A. my Uncle Joey.”

“Jeez, Davey. Don’t you know nothing? Uncle Joey is Joe Durniak.”

“No kidding, Nicky. So what?”

“So, he’s in the Syndicate, man. Hell, he is the Syndicate around here.”

“What?”

“You really had no idea? Boy, you’re way out of touch, big brother.”

“It’s not exactly the kind of news they print in the Stars and Stripes, you know. Ma, is this true?”

“It’s… I don’t want to speak about this, David.”

“Shi—It is true. I don’t believe this. Since when?”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, my God. Pop. Was he the one—”

“No! No, of course not! How could you even think such a thing! Joey and your father, they were like brothers. He would never—”

“But if he’s a mob man—”

“He is not! He’s a respected business man. Maybe he has to deal with some of those… those people to keep his company going, but that’s just how the world works. Nicky is exaggerating.”

“Yeah, sure, I’m exaggerating.”

“Don’t you use that tone with me, Nicky. Your Uncle Joey has always taken care of this family. The only reason your father had a decent burial was because of him. So I don’t want to hear another word against him in my house, do you understand? Not one more word.”

###

“‘Uncle’ Joey, huh?”

Starsky had trailed off, obviously immersed in the memories. At Hutch’s quiet prompting, he seemed to come back to the present. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, still playing with the empty can.

“I called him that, but he wasn’t actually my uncle by blood. He and my parents were very close, though. They grew up together in the same neighborhood. When I was real little, I saw him a lot. He was always over at our house, having supper with us, or he’d go with me and Pop to the ball game or to the park. I had fun when he was around. I thought he was the greatest. I had no idea, y’know? About….” Starsky looked uncomfortable, almost guilty. He dropped his head, and stared down at the floor.

“Of course you didn’t, Starsky, you were just a kid.” Thank God for small favors, Hutch thought. Not that finding out your favorite uncle was a mobster would have been easy at any age, especially for someone who cared as deeply as his partner. By now, Hutch knew only too well that Starsky didn’t trust easily, and he was beginning to understand why.

“I woke up one night and heard him talking to my folks. I was so excited, ’cause I hadn’t seen him much lately. I ran out to the living room, and interrupted an argument, I guess. I remember Pop looking really pissed, and Ma was pretty upset, too. Unc—ah, Joey, he seemed to be his usual self, though. He gave Nicky and me brand new, shiny Franklin half-dollars. Nicky blew his the very next day, on bubble gum and a bunch of baseball cards, I think, but I never spent mine. Joey told me it was lucky, and I believed him.

“After that night, he never came over to the house again, at least as far as I know. The next time I saw him wasn’t until a year or so later… at Pop’s funeral.” Starsky crushed the can in his hands. “Which was bought and paid for by one Joseph Durniak.”

Starsky suddenly sat up and hurled the can across the room. It bounced off a wall and clattered as it hit the floor, somewhere Hutch couldn’t see.

Starsky growled and snatched up another can, but Hutch reached out and grabbed his wrist. For several long moments, Starsky fought against the tight hold while glaring at Hutch, his breath coming in harsh, angry pants. Hutch just held on, waiting for the tempest to subside.

Finally, Starsky stopped struggling. He took a couple of deep breaths and nodded. Hutch nodded back and released him. Starsky dropped the can back on the table. “Shit, Blondie, it was just an empty can,” he grumbled. “Wasn’t gonna hurt nothing.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to find out what you were going to throw after you ran out of empties.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Starsky rubbing and flexing his wrist.

“I didn’t know the truth about Durniak until I got back from ‘Nam,” he went on in a subdued voice. “I was in New York, trying to make a go of things there. That’s when I found out about the mob connection, and the part about the funeral.”

The cop in Hutch had a slew of questions he wanted very much to ask, but he held his tongue. Starsky looked at him and answered the big one.

“No. Ma swore up, down, and sideways that Joey had nothing to do with Pop’s murder. The detectives on the case said that they cleared him, too. And I gotta say, Hutch, my gut tells me the same thing. Whatever else he’s done, Durniak didn’t kill my father.”

Still, even if Durniak hadn’t been responsible, he must’ve known who was, thought Hutch. Maybe not at the time it happened, but later, when he’d moved up in the ranks.

Then he thought about the kind of men who reached those ranks, the upper echelons of the Syndicate. Hardened gangland bosses, who lived by their own code and exacted their own brand of justice. Hutch thought about it, then decided not to anymore.

He reached out and pulled Starsky’s arm to him. “Let me see that.”

“Ow. What are you doing?”

“Playing doctor.” The skin was a little red, but not bruised or swollen. “You’re fine, you big baby.”

“Police brutality.”

Hutch snorted. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”

“Smart ass.”

“Well, that’s better than no ass at all,” Hutch threw back and Starsky snickered.

Hutch gently stroked his thumb over the sore spot, brushing soothing circles on the skin. Starsky kept his eyes on the rhythmic movement as he spoke.

“I almost got rid of the coin after that. I wanted to take it to Durniak, let it fly. Hit him smack between the eyes. I couldn’t tell you how many times I was ready to just toss it away. But I could never quite bring myself to do it.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t. Otherwise, I would have been stuck with Parnell or McAllister as a partner,” Hutch half-joked. Starsky glanced up, puzzled. Hutch said, “You told me the story once, remember? About why you came back here? ‘Heads, Bay City; tails, New York.’ You flipped the coin, it came up heads.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Starsky disengaged his hand from Hutch’s to scrub at the nape of his neck. He looked faintly embarrassed. “About that. I, um… cheated.”

###

I guess it’s true, what they say about not being able to go home again. How ironic is it, that all those years I was in Bay City, I wanted to be in New York, and now that I am, all I can think about is how wrong it feels to be here?

Ma, God love her, she can’t quite figure out what to do with “her Davela,” besides feeding and fussing over me. And Nicky… sneaking out every night, drinking and gambling. Shit, that gets old really fast. Or maybe it’s just me. Old.

At 23.

Shit.

Well, if nothing else, at least I’ve learned one thing: I sure as hell do not want to be driving a cab for the rest of my life. Six months of this has been more than enough, thank you very much.

So. What to do, what to do….

Time to make a choice, Davey. Stick around here, or go back to California.

John promised he’d put a good word in for me if I applied at the Academy. I don’t know why, as much trouble as I was to him and Maggie, but he seems to think I could make a good cop.

I wish I could be as sure as he is, ’cause if I could make a difference the way he has, a real difference out on the streets… yeah, that would be something worth doing.

Ah, hell. Here we go: heads, I go; tails, I stay….

Tails. Hmm….

Oops. How clumsy of me. Guess that shouldn’t count. Let’s try that again….

Heads. Alright, then.

I guess you can go home, after all. Maybe the trick is figuring out where that is, first.

###

Starsky was surprised when he was enveloped in a hug, Hutch’s strong arms squeezing him in a tight clinch. He felt tears start to form and he blinked them away quickly before Hutch could see them. He squeezed back, quick and hard, then let go so he could look at Hutch’s face.

“What was that for?” Starsky said, with a small laugh that didn’t quite mask the tremor in his voice. Hutch shrugged, but didn’t answer. Instead, he got up and walked over to the fridge and peered inside. He returned with two more cans of beer, and handed one to Starsky. Hutch popped the top on his, leaned back, and drank deep.

“You’re a mushbrain, you know.” Hutch’s voice was a little shaky as well. He looked down into the can for a moment, then up, straight into Starsky’s eyes. “Think about it. Maybe the coin saved your butt back in Vietnam, maybe it didn’t. But it sure as hell didn’t bring you back to California, or get you to join the force. You made those decisions yourself.”

The conviction in the steady gaze was compelling, and Starsky was lost in its depths for a moment. “I… I guess so. Never really thought about it that way. I just….”

“I know, buddy,” Hutch said gently. “You had it for a long time. It was a part of your childhood, a part of you. Of course it meant a lot. I’m sorry you lost it.” He patted Starsky’s stomach. Then he grinned and said, “But you know you don’t really need it, right? After all, you got me now. You ever can’t decide on something, just ask me. I’ll tell you what to do.” The grin turned smug and Starsky nodded and chuckled.

“Yeah, right, I guess we’ll make our own luck, me and thee.”

“Me and thee. I like that.” He held up his can, and Starsky lifted his own in response. “To me and thee, partner.”

About a week later, Starsky found a small drawstring pouch in his car. It was light blue, made of satin or maybe silk, with a subtle flower pattern woven into it with silver thread. He opened the bag, reached in, and pulled out a leather thong looped through two metal discs, and a piece of paper. The note read:

Starsk, I know this can’t replace your Franklin half, but I thought you might like it. Anytime you think you need to flip a coin, remember—me and thee.

Starsky folded the note and tucked it back into the pouch. He examined the discs carefully. They were old and worn, with graceful Chinese characters cast on them. I-Ching coins, he realized. Yin and yang, the dark and the light, two parts of a whole. Complementary opposites. He smiled. They couldn’t be more perfect.

Starsky slipped the cord around his neck, settling the coins just below the hollow of his throat. He double-checked the knot to make sure it was secure.

There was no way Starsky was going to lose these, ever.

###

Epilogue

Starsky leaned against the observation window. The pane was cold and unyielding against his forehead and palms, but it was the closest he could get to his partner. He wasn’t allowed in the room anymore.

“What can I do for you?”

“Get out there, roam the streets and check the sewers, hop in the holes….”

He’d done all that, and then some. But Hutch was still dying.

“Tell me, what do I do now?” Starsky whispered against the glass. This time, Hutch didn’t answer.

Twenty-four hours had dwindled down to eight. Time was running out, and so were his options.

God, if this was how Hutch had felt when Starsky had been poisoned, he didn’t know how Hutch had stood it. It was as if his spirit was being slowly shredded and ripped out, leaving him hollow inside. It truly was harder on the one…. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

Up until now, Starsky had done all the right things, followed procedure, run down every lead—and it had gotten him fuckall. Callendar was still on the loose, Roper was determined to burn the hit man himself, and Meredith wouldn’t go public about the disease. Now he no longer cared about the rules, about the law, or even his duty as an officer. All he cared about was lying ten feet away, trapped behind glass and lost to him in fever and pain.

Hutch was more than just his partner. Together, they were two halves of a whole, so intertwined that Starsky didn’t know where he ended and Hutch began. Body and mind, heart and soul—Hutch had entrusted himself to Starsky years ago, just as Starsky had to him. There was no way Starsky was going to lose him. Ever.

He touched the coins that still hung on his neck, even after all these years. Me and thee.

With one more glance, one more press of his hand against the window, he turned away and walked down the hall.

Hutch was beyond telling him anything, but Starsky knew what he had to do. He had to get back to Metro, convince Dobey to offer Callendar immunity. It was their only chance. He just hoped he had enough time left.

I’m going to make us some luck, babe. Hang on.