It’s 2014, S&H are active detectives in their late 30’s working under Dobey. They’ve also been lovers for four years, ever since Gunther’s attempted assassination on Starsky. However, in a post-DOMA world, they may be the only closeted same-sex partners in LA. And they’ve got a pretty tight closet. Why? Because couples can’t be partners in the police force, and what they do and how they do it, especially since Gunther’s hit, has become more than a job to them. It’s a mission. And they’re not about to trust anyone else to guard their backs. But how long before the strain of their secret relationship starts leaking into the rest of their lives?
Written for the 2014 Bay City Big Bang: S&H Present Tense. Special thanks to Nicky Gabriel for the wonderful cover art.
Special thanks also to Suzan Lovett and Keri T for much needed editorial help.
Hutch didn’t know what woke him. He sensed the stillness of just-before-dawn; the dim light from street lamps cast familiar shadows over his Venice Place bedroom. Lying on his side, he kept his breathing soft and even, as if still asleep. He sensed no danger. It’s still dark out. Why–?
Starsky sighed, shifted, and moved closer to Hutch’s warmth.
Hutch smiled. Are you dreaming? Starsky was still asleep, but his restlessness had roused Hutch. Then the sudden rasp of Starsky’s beard against his spine brought him to full wakefulness…and hardness. Good morning to you, too, lover.
Starsky sighed again, the sound full of contentment. That was one of Hutch’s favorite sounds. It said so much more than mere words. It said I am safe… happy… warm… secure. More importantly, Hutch heard something else. He heard: I am loved.
Starsky’s beard rubbed again across Hutch’s shoulder as he moved under the lightweight covers. “Time ‘z’it?” Starsky mouthed that directly into Hutch’s shoulder, rendering it indecipherable, but Hutch was well versed in Starsky-mumbles.
Turning, Hutch rolled onto his back, letting Starsky snuggle against his side. They moved against each other in the practiced way of long-time lovers. Their four-year affair was founded on their working partnership. But, Hutch could never take for granted waking up beside someone who truly loved him.
Hutch slid an arm around Starsky and pulled him close. “Early,” Hutch said. “Too early to get up.”
“Mmm,” Starsky grunted, nestling his head on Hutch’s shoulder.
With Starsky’s warmth pressed against Hutch’s side, they would often go back to sleep, safe in the security of each other’s arms. The half hour before the alarm rang was often the best sleep either of them ever got. Hutch felt himself sliding into a cozy cocoon with a sweet edge of arousal. Whatever they had been through the previous day couldn’t touch them here — not second thoughts, not recriminations, failures, or regrets. They shared a different plane of existence here, a small nirvana that during the day was always out of reach.
As the dark enveloped Hutch and he allowed himself to slide back into restful oblivion, his phone rang loudly, startling him as badly as a Tazer to his bare flank. “What a man, what a man, what a mighty good man…” Salt ‘n Pepa belted out.
Beside him, Starsky’s body tensed, telling Hutch he was also now fully awake. He muttered, “Shit!” into Hutch’s armpit.
Hutch groped blindly for his raucous cell phone. He’d deal with Starsky later for changing his ring tone yet again from the no-nonsense default tone he preferred. He grabbed the cell as Salt n’ Pepa continued rapping, “…most men are ho’s, he flows on the down low, Cuz I never heard about him with another girl…”
This time, I am going to kill him, he swore as he looked at the screen and realized it was Dobey on the other end. Resentfully, he brought the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” He had no reserves left for politeness.
“Not-so-good-morning to you, too, Hutchinson,” Captain Dobey grumbled. He sounded exhausted, and Hutch wondered if he’d ever gone home last night. “I trust you know where that partner of yours is.”
Do I ever. He glanced at Starsky and found one eye peering at him, eyebrow furrowed. “Yeah, I know where he is, Captain.”
Starsky gave his right butt cheek a light pinch, but made no sound.
“Well, get hold of him,” Dobey said. The man was clearly tired. “I need you both on the scene ten minutes ago. The uniforms are keeping it secure, but a crowd’s gathering.” He gave Hutch the address; not far from Huggy’s place. “I have a feeling it’s related to the mess you were dealing with yesterday. Same M.O. and probably same caliber weapon as the last two homicides you’re following. Maybe you’ll get some answers out of it.”
Hutch sighed wearily. Not the way he wanted to start the day. “We’ll be there, Cap.”
“I’ll see you there,” Dobey said, and disconnected.
Hutch frowned.
“What?” Starsky moaned in protest, an inquiry and complaint.
“They’re holding a crime scene for us,” Hutch said. “Might be related to the DJ Moni-Honey case. He didn’t give me many details, just ‘be there right now.'”
“It’s always ‘right now,'” Starsky groused. “As if the crime scene won’t be just as cold in an hour.”
“He’s meeting us there.” Hutch knew Starsky would be as surprised as he was.
Starsky lifted his head to look at his partner. He groaned again. “Gonna be one of those days,” he mumbled, sliding away from Hutch at the same time that Hutch sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Isn’t every day?” Hutch resented the loss of Starsky’s warmth and the potential of a sweet morning. He tried to remember the last time they’d enjoyed sex before work and couldn’t.
“When it starts like this, it is!”
“You’re lucky it’s not starting with another murder,” Hutch said, as he moved to his dresser and started pulling out clean underwear. “One closer to home.”
“What?” Starsky mumbled, picking up his underwear from yesterday and giving it a tentative sniff. He dropped it where he found it.
“The ring tone, clown! That was Dobey listening to Salt ‘n Pepa extolling my virtues!” He tried to imagine Dobey’s expression, but then realized their captain was all too used to Starsky’s electronic pranks.
“Who said they were your virtues,” Starsky shot back, sliding his well-worn skinny jeans on without underwear. “I put that on to remind you about mine.”
Hutch rolled his eyes. “The point, Starsky. The point is Dobey calling us. Not Huggy. Not Minnie. Dobey.”
Starsky shuffled through a pile of discarded t-shirts piled on a nearby chair. “How many times I gotta tell ya? Dobey doesn’t hear that ring tone. He only hears that standard classical music ring back. Unlike my phone’s ringback: “Bad boys, bad boys, what’cha gonna do when they come for you…”
“I’m changing my password again!”
Starsky just laughed.
~~~
“Here ya go, gents,” Huggy said, placing three steaming mugs of coffee on the table with a plate full of biscotti. “The coffee is my own secret recipe. I call it, ‘Island Magic.'” The last he said with a pronounced Caribbean accent. Starsky thought it went well with his bright t-shirt of many-colored stripes and loose white denim pants. The matching striped scarf he’d tied through the belt loops around his narrow waist was, Starsky thought, a classy touch of Fred Astaire with the color scheme of One Direction. But the turquoise sandals went a little too far. “After the case you tied up today, you well deserve it.” He raised his own mug to toast them.
“You’re welcome. Now gimme that, Hug!” Grinning, Starsky reached for the mug. He’d been smelling the heady aroma as Huggy brewed it in the otherwise shut-down kitchen. To Starsky, coffee wasn’t just a necessary adrenaline jolt, but a primary nutrient. He considered himself something of a coffee gourmet, much to Hutch’s irritation. But everyone on the street knew Huggy brewed the best coffee in Bay City.
Huggy’s restaurant-bar-and-internet-café, I’m Just Sayin’, was, like Huggy, a unique mixture of hip modernity and old school funk. It was the only internet café Starsky knew of with a liquor license, full menu, sit down service, a bank of laptops, and a small bookstore packed with political tomes. Starsky still wasn’t sure how Huggy had swung that license.
Besides his own specialty coffees, Huggy offered a full range of wine spritzers and an ever-expanding menu of exotic beer that appealed to the hip young techie-types. His menu ranged from collard greens and ham hocks to the latest in organic raw food and vegan sushi. Besides the younger crowd that never stopped texting, he also served a segment of the community that had no idea how to turn on a computer, never mind coax information from it, and expected their favorite establishment to serve hard liquor and cheeseburgers for breakfast. Huggy obliged without hesitation, and somehow made his diverse group of customers compatible. Starsky was ever grateful for those breakfast cheeseburgers.
The two detectives enjoyed sampling Huggy’s latest experiment, as they often did, in the privacy of the closed restaurant, which had shut its doors an hour ago. They’d come in the back door around 2:30 a.m. as Huggy’s crew closed the kitchen, turned the computers off, and cleaned the place so it would be ready for breakfast at six. Chairs sat upside down on tabletops, and every surface gleamed. Except for the table Huggy kept ready for their frequent after-hours meetings.
“So, this coffee is Jamaican?” Hutch said, after a healthy swallow. “It’s awesome, Hug. I think it’s the best so far.”
“Not Jamaica. Panama.” Huggy held up a hand. “And before you say anything, Hutch, you surely know that I know that Panama is not an island. The Island Magic in the title refers to the master brewer’s hand!” He sketched a little bow. Huggy took pride in his Caribbean ancestry. Some of his long list of relatives either originated on the islands or still lived there.
“I really don’t care where this comes from or what you call it, Hug,” Starsky said. “Just keep it coming.” He looked at Hutch. “How are we supposed to live on that swill at the station after this?”
“You say that every day,” Hutch reminded him. “No matter where we pick up coffee.”
“Your point being…?” Starsky said. Hutch nodded, conceding that any coffee was better than the precinct’s.
“Seriously, where did you get this, Hug?” Hutch asked appreciatively. “It’s wonderful.”
“We wouldn’t be finding any Starbucks bags in your storeroom if we happened to wander back there, hmmm?” Starsky asked across the rim of his steaming mug. Starbucks was offering coffee from Panama this month, but it wasn’t as good as this.
“Starsky, you cut me to the quick,” Huggy replied, looking impossibly smug. “Not to mention, it’ll be a cold day in the Mojave before I would let either of you set foot in the inner sanctum of my storeroom!”
No kidding, Starsky thought as Hutch laughed. They both suspected Huggy stashed items of questionable legality back there, and what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt their relationship. I’m Just Sayin’ was their best source of information. They couldn’t afford to lose it. Or Huggy.
“And, Hutch,” Huggy continued, “bamboo shoots couldn’t get me to reveal my source. A man has to have his secrets, especially a man in this cutthroat business. The coffee beans are pure gold, but any fool can ruin the finest handpicked coffee. What you are tasting is the result of my brand new, top of the line coffee roaster and the finest homegrown coffee from a plantation my cousin works for in Panama. This isn’t just fair trade, my man, this is family trade. But, adding just a soupcon of secret spices from my auntie’s farm on the islands inspired me to call it Island Magic. Today, you’ve got to have something extraordinary to compete with those invaders from Seattle.”
Hutch peered into his cup suspiciously. “So, this is a family thing, huh? Tell us the truth, Hug — is it voodoo coffee?”
Starsky put down his cup with a clatter.
Huggy laughed, but didn’t deny it. “Oh, yeah, Hutch. My aunt hexed it, too. Two swallows of my Island Magic and you can’t help but tell ol’ Huggy everything he wants to know.”
“So, that’s the real secret behind all your street info,” Starsky said, and brazenly took another swallow. Even if it were true about the hexing, the coffee was too good to resist.
“That and a great key-logging program on the computer banks. But you didn’t hear that from me,” Huggy said quietly.
Starsky suspected he’d gotten that program from Minnie, but she’d never admit it, either.
“Well, since we both know better than to use this place to Google anything more sensitive than a recipe,” Hutch agreed, “exactly what kind of information are you trying to pry out of us with this amazing brew? Because I’d confess to almost anything to get another cup.”
Huggy’s smile turned sly as Hutch drained his cup. “Yeah? Then after all the years we’ve known each other, and everything we’ve been through, when are you two gonna finally tell your old, trusted buddy why, in this bright new day of openness and light, you both don’t finally come out of the closet.”
Starsky froze. He didn’t have to look at Hutch to know he did, too, even though outwardly, he could see no discernible change in Hutch’s attitude. Hutch was that good undercover. Yet, Starsky had to wonder if Huggy’s coffee was indeed hexed, because — in spite of their long history of successfully maintaining their straight cover — he couldn’t bring himself to flat out lie to one of their closest friends. Hutch’s silence told Starsky he was struggling with the same issue.
Hutch broke first. “What the hell are you–?”
“Oh, stop!” Huggy said impatiently. “Just stop, will ya? How long have we known each other?”
Too long, Starsky thought uncomfortably.
Huggy thrust a thumb over his shoulder in Starsky’s direction. “He and I practically grew up together since that day back in the ‘hood when he came on like the Lone Stranger and saved my ass from a serious beatin’.”
Hutch had heard the story before. Starsky was thirteen. John Blaine had taught him a lot about fighting, but it helped that both boys could outrun the older gang members, and were small enough to hide in a tight spot the gang couldn’t find. Starsky was never sure what made him intercede for someone he didn’t know. He suspected the basic unfairness of five big guys against one scrawny teenager spoke to him.
“You,” Huggy said to Hutch, “I haven’t known nearly as long, but that don’t matter. Starsky brought you. That said everything. And I think after all this time you will admit there isn’t another person in this whole city that can keep a secret as tight as I can. Am I right?”
“Can’t deny that,” Starsky conceded, finally allowing himself to look at Hutch.
But those blue eyes barely glanced at him before turning back to Huggy. Hutch locked eyes on their friend, giving him the unblinking stare that made bad guys confess to things Hutch hadn’t even asked them yet. “I can’t believe of all people you’d come at us with the same old ‘two-guys-can’t-be-as-close-as-you-two-without-being-fuck-buddies’ crap we have to put up with at the station.”
“Oh, please, blondie,” Huggy said dismissively, waving a hand. “I heard about that dust-up. You laid that sucker out cold with one shot to the chin, then asked if anyone else had something they wanted to add. No wonder none of your brothers-in-blue have ever said anything about it since.”
“We get back-up when we need it,” Hutch said sullenly, as if that were a solid defense.
“As you well deserve, since you back your brothers up without hesitation.”
Starsky suddenly felt weary and a little old. The whole situation was old. “When did you figure it out?” Hutch stared at him in shock, but it was late, and frankly, Starsky was tired of the game.
Huggy smiled at him with the warm, friendly face he reserved for those closest to him. “It occurred to me some time after Starsky fully recovered from Gunther’s attack that I couldn’t remember when you two horn dogs had last left here with a leggy lovely on your arms, or talked about any special ladies.”
Starsky kept his face from showing his surprise. Huggy had nailed it. During his long fight back from the attempted hit, Hutch was the only thing keeping his body and soul together. When he finally figured his real feelings out for himself, he discovered Hutch had just been waiting for him to buy a clue.
“Once I realized that,” Huggy continued, “I started noticing that during the whole DOMA and Proposition 8 bullshit — you two were the only ones who wouldn’t talk about it, pro or con. If the conversation went that way, you’d deflect it. At first, I thought you were just tryin’ to remain neutral. But when they finally struck it down last June, you’re the only people I know who still showed no reaction. That’s when I really twigged to it, and started noticing a definite sea change in your relationship. I just got tired of waiting for you to say something. And a little hurt you couldn’t trust ol’ Huggy. So, how long?”
“Four years,” Hutch said simply.
Over four years since Gunther, Starsky realized. Four years of a stable romance for both of them. Something neither of them was willing to risk.
Huggy snorted. “Talk about a pretty tight closet… So explain it to me, since this part I can’t understand…. You two have the most solid relationship I’ve ever seen. Why don’t you come out? Why don’t you get married? Why don’t you enjoy what all my other gay friends have been celebrating? You deserve it.”
Hutch sat back and stared morosely at his coffee. “That’s the irony, isn’t it? All of a sudden, the whole world can be gay and proud. But we’re stuck in the 1950’s, or some backwater precinct in Utah, or–.”
“Because–?” Huggy prodded.
“Because of our jobs, Hug,” Starsky blurted in frustration.
He only looked more confused. “Your jobs? Hell, gay cops have a union! It’s illegal for Bay City to discriminate against–”
“We couldn’t work together anymore,” Hutch said. “Couples can’t be partners on the police force. That’s a long-standing rule, ever since they started putting women on the streets.”
“And nobody,” Starsky said firmly, “but nobody covers that man’s back but me.”
“Ditto,” Hutch agreed.
Huggy clearly wasn’t expecting that response, and it took him a few minutes to assimilate. Finally, he said softly, “There’s other jobs–”
“What we do, the way we do it,” Hutch said, “it’s not just a job to us. It’s a mission. We both became cops to help people, to make a difference! We’re doing that.”
“No question,” Huggy agreed. In the years they’d been partners, crime in their district had taken a serious hit. They were feared on the street. The reason Gunther tried to have them killed was a direct result of the affect they were having on his organization. After the attempted hit, they not only put Gunther away, but also shut down his entire operation. They had the highest percentage of convictions in the city.
“We wouldn’t be nearly as effective with other partners,” Starsky said.
“I can’t imagine working with anyone else,” Hutch said. “So…we’re stuck.”
Huggy looked at them sadly. “I don’t have to tell you your secret’s safe with me.”
They nodded.
“I’ll get you another cup of coffee,” Huggy said, standing. “And…I’ve got word about that heist last week I think you’ll be interested in.”
As Huggy left to get the coffee, Starsky looked at Hutch and said, “Utah…?”
He shrugged. “I was reaching for an extreme example.” His gaze softened as he said quietly, “Maybe we’ll retire someday!”
Starsky laughed. Sure, they would.
~~~
The soft sounds of the radio eased Hutch out of sleep. “…In today’s news, Utah became the seventeenth state to legalize same-sex marriage. Groups opposed have vowed to take legal action…”
Utah…? Who’d have ever thought…?
He felt Starsky rub his cheek against his shoulder. “So, we can get married in Utah!” His voice had its typical early morning raspiness.
Hutch smiled. Every time another state legalized gay marriage, Starsky suggested they hold nuptials there. The Utah idea was just a gentle dig at the conversation with Huggy.
“We could,” Hutch agreed, rolling over so that Starsky could nestle against his side and he could pull his partner close. “Though, I think people might wonder why we were vacationing in Utah, of all places.”
“Well, it’s closer than some of the other states.” Starsky hadn’t opened his eyes yet.
“And farther than others,” Hutch reminded him. Proposition Eight had been overturned last June, as Huggy had reminded them, so they could certainly get married right in Bay City if they wanted to.
“But I don’t think anyone would suspect why we were going to Utah,” Starsky continued.
“That’s probably true,” Hutch agreed. “Though they might wonder about our sudden fascination with that of all states.”
“Maybe… Still…we could get married there.”
“We could.” Hutch waited a few beats while Starsky enjoyed his brief fantasy.
Then Starsky sighed. “Except that BCPD doesn’t let married people work together.”
“No, they don’t.” Hutch shut his eyes.
The news had gone on to politics, war, and the usual laundry list of mayhem that the world faced daily.
Hutch would have preferred waking to classical music, but Starsky said it was so boring he’d just go back to sleep, and Hutch couldn’t face Starsky’s hard rock. The news station was their compromise.
“Well, if we’re not gonna get married in Utah,” Starsky said petulantly, “then I wanna suck your dick.”
Hutch had to laugh. “Are those the only two choices, or is that some kind of consolation prize?”
“Yeah. Consolidation prize,” Starsky said as he slid under the covers, deliberately mispronouncing the word. “To consolidate our union.”
Hutch gasped as Starsky took his erection in his mouth without warning. “Oh, yeah,” Hutch breathed as Starsky made his own kind of music on Hutch’s all-too-sensitive flesh. “We’re consolidated, all right.” Nothing could come between them. Never had; never would.
~~~
Hutch holstered his gun and slowly stood up from his crouch behind the dumpster. DJ Money-Honi, as he had been known on the streets, lay sprawled face-down across a filthy puddle at the dead-end of the alley where they’d trapped him. Across from the dumpster, Starsky emerged from the doorway he’d taken shelter in when DJ, in a desperate attempt to escape, had unleashed a barrage of automatic gun fire in his direction. They glanced at each other, nodding to confirm that each was unscathed. They didn’t need words.
The light changed subtly, drawing Hutch’s attention to the mouth of the short alley. Dawn was coloring the gray sky. He found himself thinking of that old song from the 70’s, A Lighter Shade of Pale. They hadn’t been to bed yet, and after the adrenaline rush of the chase and gunfight, exhaustion suddenly hit him hard. Shaking off the distraction, he approached the fallen man. Starsky, ever cautious, kept his Glock trained on the prostrate body.
DJ’s .357 had fallen from his hand, clattering to the dirty pavement. Hutch kicked it aside and leaned down to touch his neck. The skin was warm, but Hutch could feel no thudding heartbeat. He glanced at his partner. “He’s dead.”
“Well, that just saved Bay City an expensive court case,” Starsky grumbled.
“And lost us any possible connection to his partners.” Hutch stood and moved closer to Starsky.
“We had no choice, Hutch. No way was he gonna let us take him alive. If he talked, his organization would’ve snuffed him no matter how well we protected him in prison. He was out of options.”
“And so are we. He was our only lead.”
“We’ll find another one,” Starsky insisted, squeezing Hutch’s shoulder. “We’ll have to.”
In the distance, they heard approaching sirens. Starsky pulled his hand away and checked the time on his iPhone. “I told you we shoulda got married in Utah.”
After all this time together, Hutch was rarely surprised anymore by Starsky’s non-sequiturs, but this one threw him. “What?”
He was still looking at his cell. “Well, remember when the same-sex marriage ban in that state was declared unconstitutional? Yesterday, while we were chasing this yo-yo all over Bay City–losing a perfectly good night’s sleep in the process–the U.S. Supreme Court put a stay on that decision while the state appeals. They’re trying to decide if the state has to ‘recognize’ the marriages that have already taken place.”
“So, if we had gotten married in Utah,” Hutch said, “our union might not be recognized in that state.”
“It’d still be recognized in California, where we live.”
Hutch almost got sucked into it, but caught himself before reminding Starsky that there were sixteen other states–including their home state of California–and the District of Columbia where they could get married whenever they wanted to, and have it recognized at home. He closed his mouth. Hutch realized the marriage chatter was Starsky’s way of complaining that he bitterly resented their lost morning in bed.
“Better call the captain,” Starsky said, bringing them back to the moment.
He nodded. “Dobey’s favorite wake up call.”
“It’s his turn!”
Hutch dialed the Captain and waited for him to answer. His exhaustion pulled at him. They should still be asleep at this hour, still have some time before the world intruded on the safety of their private life. He hated the loss of those special hours that could never be reclaimed. Losing sleep was bad enough, but losing the chance to hold Starsky in the quiet dark, to feel for even a brief time that they were alone and secure with their love, was a loss Hutch found himself bitterly resenting. He shook it off. Losing sleep always made him feel old and depressed.
Get over it, Hutchinson. You both made it out alive, unhurt. Be thankful for that. It had been a close call. There’d been a moment when Starsky had been surprised by their quarry and only his fast reflexes had saved his life. Hutch didn’t want to think about that moment. They’d gotten through it. He was thankful.
He heard Dobey mumble something incoherent into the phone as two squad cars pulled up to the mouth of the alley. Starsky started walking towards them, no doubt to request they call for the medical examiner, the coroner’s wagon, and a crime scene team. “Good morning, Captain. I’m sorry to wake you at this hour, but I needed to let you know….”
~~~
“Well, Starsky,” Minnie said, handing him a hefty computer printout bristling with post-it notes, “you’re gonna owe me a steak dinner when this case comes to trial.”
Starsky raised his eyebrows. “Is that right? Because you finally got your girl scout badge for recycling? I’m not sure palming off five pounds of paper on your favorite detective counts–”
She hooted. “What’chu talkin’ ’bout? Everyone knows Hutch is my favorite.”
“Careful, Minnie. Lying causes pimples! And I think I see one right there–” He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Quit that, you trashy boy!” she protested, laughing. “I don’t need the wrath of Hutchinson comin’ down on me!”
Starsky drew back, startled. They were alone in one of the extensive police file rooms, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be overheard. Minnie had never checked him like that before. He could feel his face darken in a blush, something that rarely happened.
She busied herself with the file cabinet she’d pulled the printout from. She was obviously a little flustered herself. “Did I say that out loud? Look, the paper is for Hutch. You know he likes to look through this stuff his own self. And it’s not like he’s never caught something I missed on the screen–”
He could’ve let her get away with it. But something wouldn’t let him. “You talked to Huggy.”
She lowered her voice considerably. “You think you’re the only one has reason to be careful ’round here? You know damned well Huggy and I have been together for two years now. You think that’s viewed kindly upstairs? You don’t think that might have something to do with my lack of promotions? I’m two years behind everyone in my graduating class on advancement, in spite of my record.”
Minnie had won a number of awards for innovative computer work, and she was invaluable to the department when it came to following the lengthy digital trails that often brought more convictions than on-street arrests. They would never have been able to convict Gunther to a life behind bars without Minnie. Starsky found he had nothing to say.
“It ain’t always about race, boy!” she said angrily. “And I’m only gonna say this once. Huggy don’t break confidences about his friends, not to me, not to anyone. So whatever you all have been talkin’ about, I’m not in on it.” She stopped, seemed to simmer down a little, then suddenly found some dust on his shoulder she had to brush off. “I’ve known you two a long time. A long time. I’ve seen you both happy, seen you both sad, seen you both crazy, and seen you both mad. Don’t you think maybe ol’ Minnie might be smart enough to figure out that the both of you have been really happy for a long time now and with no ‘outside help’?”
He felt stupid. It had never occurred to him that her semi-clandestine relationship with Huggy could be just as problematic to her career as his was. She was his friend, his good friend. He and Hutch had built such a defensive cocoon around themselves after Gunther, even their friends were no longer on their radar. “Minnie–”
She turned around and shut the file drawer with a bang, as if ending the conversation. “Hutch will be waitin’ for that paper, Starsky. Same file is on the server where you can look at it, too. But you got lucky when Mr. Money-Honi died, and left you a nice trail of his best friends in his texting and email records.”
Unable to say anything, he kissed her quickly on the cheek again and darted out of the room. He could hear her protesting, “Starsky, quit that!” trailing out behind him.
~~~
“You wanted to see us, Captain?” Hutch asked as he entered Dobey’s office. Starsky had gone to pick up a printout Hutch wanted. Dobey had called him about a minute after Starsky left the squad room.
“Actually, I just wanted to see you, Hutch.” Dobey was busy looking over a pile of papers on his desk. Hutch hesitated as he entered the room. “Have a seat.” Dobey shifted a short stack of four sheets to the side, then finally noticed Hutch standing by the door. He smiled. “No trouble, Hutch. For either of you. I just wanted to talk about something. With you.”
Hutch didn’t like it. He tried to remember the last time Dobey called him in alone when Starsky was still in the vicinity and couldn’t. He sat in a nearby chair, reluctantly perching on its edge. “What’s up, Captain?”
Dobey folded his hands together. “You and Starsky went above and beyond pursuing Reginald Banks last week–”
Hutch had to think for a moment, then realized Dobey was talking about DJ Money-Honi. He nodded. “I think we’re both still trying to catch up on our lost sleep.”
“You know this department–hell, every department in Bay City–has been hit heavily with budget cuts and restrictive hiring practices for the last five years.”
Hutch nodded. Every cop in the city knew that. They hadn’t had a raise or cost of living increase for the last three, and they were severely understaffed.
“Well, the recent surge in violent crime may have shaken the budget loose finally.” Dobey was smiling. “We’ve been allowed to hire additional crime techs, and increase our staffing.”
Hutch still had no idea where this was going.
He was about to ask when Dobey finally said, “The department’s going to bring on a lieutenant and two lower-grade detectives.” Dobey’s smile grew broader. He pushed the short stack of papers towards Hutch. “There’s a lieutenant’s exam a month from now. Hutch, I want you to take that exam. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have in that position.”
Hutch stared at Dobey, trying to compute what he’d just heard. “Lieutenant–? I, uh, I’m flattered, Captain, but–”
Dobey cut him off before he could refuse. “At the pace you and your partner work, I know neither of you has spent a minute thinking about your long-term careers. It’s time you do, past time. This is just a first step for you, Hutch. You’re smart, smarter than any cop I think I’ve ever met. You’re college-educated. You could go far in this–”
Hutch stood up, suddenly enraged, and jabbed a finger in Dobey’s direction. “Starsky isn’t eligible for the lieutenant’s exam and you know it! When he got back from Desert Storm, he used the GI Bill to get enough credits under his belt to qualify for the academy, but he never finished college. As a veteran, he didn’t have to have a degree to be a cop. But he would to be a lieutenant.”
Dobey held out his hands as if trying to calm him down. “Of course, I know that. But he can go back to school part time and get his degree in a couple of years, if he wanted, and then he’d be eligible. By then, there’d probably be another lieutenant’s position–”
“And in the meantime?” Hutch had to struggle not to shout. “What would Detective Starsky be doing while I’m busy being Lieutenant Hutchinson? Who’d be his partner then?”
“Hutch.” Dobey’s voice became more modulated. “Starsky should be training younger detectives. We need his experience with the new positions coming on. We’ve got so many of the old guard retiring, we don’t have the depth of experience anymore in the field.”
Training younger detectives? Hutch tried to imagine Starsky having the patience for that, and couldn’t.
He forced himself to ease back in the chair and get control of his emotions. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was suffering from rampant paranoia. But this man had been one of the sharpest detectives in the squad in his day, and understood discrimination better than anyone working on the squad.
“Y’know, Hutch, most detectives are grateful when an opportunity for promotion comes up–” Dobey wasn’t scolding him. He sounded almost sad.
As softly as he could, Hutch asked, “Why are you trying to split us up?”
Dobey sagged in his seat. “Part of my job as captain is to consider the long-range careers of my officers. Do you really think you and Starsky can keep up this pace forever? You’re not in your twenties anymore. It’s been four years since Gunther. No one was more surprised than I was when Starsky re-qualified after that attack. He had you to thank for it. And these last four years, it’s like you’ve both been on fire. You put in more hours and take down more hardened criminals than cops ten years younger. Detectives at your level should be looking for career advancement.”
Hutch fidgeted in the chair. “Ever heard of the ‘Peter Principle’, Captain. That’s where they take efficient workers and promote them until they reach a position where they’re no longer competent. Starsky and I are good at what we do. Our record speaks for itself. Why push us into job responsibilities we’re not suited for?”
Dobey paused, as if trying to come up with a better argument. Finally, he said, “When you and Starsky first started here under me, I handpicked the two of you for the Zebra Unit. Zebra Three. The first two units didn’t last long and transferred out, but you two stayed on. The Zebra Units gave us the freedom to send officers wherever they were needed. You handled the most diverse types of crimes, and often the most dangerous. And you’ve lasted the longest. All the detectives who came in around the same time you did have moved on. There’s an attrition rate to Zebra units. You can’t stay on the street forever! Neither of you.”
Hutch leaned forward in the chair, ready to argue, but Dobey cut him off.
“Face reality, Hutch. Sooner or later, Starsky’s injuries are going to start affecting him, slowing him down. Right now, he’s healthy enough to train new detectives and finish his degree by going to school at night. If you both eventually made lieutenant, it would prolong your careers, and enable you to continue doing the kind of work you’ve been doing with less risk.”
It all made so much sense. Why wasn’t Hutch buying it? “But not as partners.”
Dobey sighed. “Is that your plan? To retire as detectives, to keep your partnership intact to the very end?”
Hutch didn’t answer. The truth is they lived day to day. They had no long-range plans. Some of that was thanks to Gunther. But most of it was because of the nature of their job…and their relationship.
“You’re at least ten years away from retirement,” Dobey said. “Lots of men leave the department as soon as they’re eligible and start a new business, maybe buy a bar, maybe go into security work, consulting. Is that what you’re thinking?”
Hutch realized they’d never spent ten minutes discussing it. He didn’t like the sound of any of those options, and he suspected Starsky would go crazy with the limitations that kind of career would impose.
Dobey shrugged. “Detectives do it all the time. But,” he looked Hutch straight in the eye, “most of those detectives have families. Husbands, wives, children who they also have to take into consideration. They’re usually not…single and driven like you two are. The mission isn’t what motivates them to get up every day.”
The mission. Gunther had changed them. They’d always been devoted to the job, but in the year before Gunther, Hutch was struggling. He’d felt burned out. He and Starsky were at odds more than not. And he was lost in morass of love that, he thought, could never be fulfilled. Gunther had been the tipping point. That man tried to kill Starsky. Gunther had inadvertently turned Hutch from a cop on the brink of giving it all up to an avenging angel. Gunther had given Hutch a clearer vision of what he was meant to do in life than if he’d been struck by lightning on the road to Damascus. And in the oddest turn of events, Gunther had actually given him Starsky in ways Hutch had never allowed himself to fantasize.
Dobey thought that a promotion could get Hutch to leave Starsky’s side? To let anyone else cover Starsky’s back?
Dobey’s voice jerked him back to the present. “You and Starsky need to start thinking about your futures. Opportunities won’t come up every day in these budget-tightening times. And Hutch…” Dobey shifted in his chair, but wouldn’t meet Hutch’s eyes. “I won’t be your captain forever. At some point, Edith is going to insist I retire. I’ll be honest — I don’t know how open-minded a different captain will be about your partnership.”
Hutch knew he should keep his mouth shut, but couldn’t help himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dobey sighed and ran a beefy hand through his short grey hair. “There’s a different train of thought in the force these days. Some departments are working in groups, like task forces. Look at Major Crimes upstairs. The entire squad works together. They don’t have partners working out of cars anymore. Times are changing.”
Hutch was flummoxed. Was Dobey trying in some obtuse way to admit he knew what their relationship meant to them? As close as they felt to him, they’d respected the responsibility of his position and had practiced a calculated discretion around him. On Dobey’s part, he’d been blithely ignoring the fact that for years he and Starsky were always together. When Hutch had flattened DeMarco for the gay crack, Dobey disciplined them both, but Hutch knew he should have been suspended or brought up on charges. Dobey’s defense was that he had no tolerance for bullying or hate speech. His mind racing, he remembered a cast off comment Dobey had made to him about a year after Gunther when he said in private that lately it was a relief to call Starsky at night and not have the phone answered by some sleepy female instead.
Hutch decided the less said, the better. “Captain…I, uh…You’ve given me a lot to think about. I’m just not sure I’m ready for this. I’ve been Starsky’s partner for so long, I just don’t know exactly what I’d be if I wasn’t.”
Quietly, Dobey said, “You’ll always be partners, I’m sure. No matter what else you’re doing.”
Hutch found he couldn’t meet Dobey’s gaze when he said this, and that made him mad all over again. Wisely, he said nothing.
“Hutch, take the form. Study for the exam. Most people fail it the first time anyway. Even if you pass, you might not be offered the position. And even if you are, you can always turn it down. It’s not an overnight process. You’ll have plenty of time to think through all the ramifications.”
It was too logical to refuse. Numbly, Hutch stood and picked up the papers, rolling them into a tube.
“Hutch,” Dobey said as he shuffled toward the door, “any time you need to talk… you know my door is always open to you.”
Hutch had to resist the urge to blurt, Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Swallowing, he managed a weak smile. “Thanks, Captain. And thanks for…looking out for us.”
The few steps to the door seemed like a million miles. Escaping into the squad room was a relief.
Just as he entered, Starsky approached, his arms laden with a heavy print out. Dumping the paper on their joint desk in front of Hutch’s chair, he tossed a folded newspaper on top of the pile of computer sheets. “Minnie sends her love. She says you’re her favorite now. I must be losing my touch.”
Hutch was still recovering from his meeting with Dobey and couldn’t muster his automatic snappy response. Can’t lose what you never had, buddy.
As if noting his distracted state, Starsky frowned, confused, then glanced at the rolled up papers in his hands. “What’s that?”
Hutch looked at them, startled they were still there. “Something we can talk about later.”
Starsky nodded. There wasn’t enough privacy in the squad room to discuss anything the least bit personal.
Hutch indicated the printout. “That’s the read-out I asked for? Thanks.” He pointed to the folded newspaper. “Something in today’s paper interesting?”
Starsky read the newspaper on line. He kept telling Hutch paper was a dying medium, so he was surprised to see him with a section of the Chronicle folded the way he used to when he read it in hard copy.
“Uh…yeah.” He coughed a little and spoke clearly, as if he wanted his voice to carry. “My landlord’s raising my rent again. He won’t paint the place, even though it’s been five years, and I had to fix the leaky faucet myself. I’m gettin’ tired of the constant money drain and repairs I shouldn’t have to make. I’m thinkin’ of buyin’ a place. Like for an investment and a tax deduction. Since the housing boom crashed, there are properties available at reasonable prices right now. You’re about due for a rent increase, too, aren’t you?”
Hutch blinked, taken off guard. “Well, yeah–”
“If we pooled our money, we could get a bigger place!” Starsky grinned at him as if this was the most original idea anyone ever had.
After the conversation he’d just had with Dobey, Hutch wasn’t ready for this curve ball. “Starsky…are you asking me to live with you?”
Starsky looked like Hutch had just slapped him, but he recovered quickly. Laughing nervously, he said, “No! I mean, not exactly. That is — we should look at it as a good investment, Hutch. Real estate in California is always a good bet. If we get a place for a reasonable down payment, with the interest rates as low as they are, we could probably make a nice profit in five years or so. We could save on commuting, have a guaranteed tax deduction, and we won’t have to worry about rising rents… Y’know Yost in Homicide? He and his partner did the same thing. They pooled their money, picked up a place on short sale, put some work into it, and just sold it for a neat profit. They’re looking around for another one. I ran into them after I left Minnie. They said prices are just startin’ to go up. If we wait too long, we could miss the chance to score.”
Hutch glanced surreptitiously around the squad room. DeMarco was working at his laptop and studiously ignoring them as he had ever since the knock down. No one seemed to be paying them any mind.
“I circled a coupla places I thought we could check into.” Starsky held the newspaper up to show him.
Hutch knew damned well that Starsky would have done his initial searches on line where the information would be current and more relevant to their area. This was a show for the office. “Well… we can do a drive by after our shift, Starsk. It’s something to think about. Though I like living in Venice, and being near the beach. But I know we’d never be able to afford to buy there.”
“You never know, Hutch. There are foreclosures everywhere. Maybe for once the economic downturn might work in our favor.”
“That would be something new!” Hutch realized he was still gripping the forms Dobey had given him. He and Starsky would be discussing more than real estate tonight. He wasn’t looking forward to it.
~~~
Starsky sat on Hutch’s couch and stared at the forms lying on the coffee table that still held the crumpled imprint where Hutch had gripped them. “You sure you’re not reading too much into this?”
Hutch was calm, but Starsky could hear a resigned tone in his voice he didn’t like. “You weren’t there. He talked about retiring, and warned me that the next captain wouldn’t be so open-minded about our partnership.” Hutch was pacing up and down the living room. Not in a frenetic way. More like he did when he was trying to work out a problem. “He said the department might eventually phase out detective partnerships anyway. That they might work us as a unit, like they do with Major Crimes.” He sighed.
Starsky tried to imagine a future like that. “Well…we’d still be working together….”
“But we wouldn’t be partners,” Hutch said. “It’d be more like a task force.”
“It’s still conjecture on his part, Hutch. And it hasn’t happened yet–”
“That wasn’t the most important message Dobey gave me,” Hutch said, sitting beside Starsky on the couch. “The important message was this: change is coming. Not tomorrow, not next week, but eventually. Get prepared. And Starsky, we’re not prepared. We just keep doing what we’re doing. We never think about tomorrow.”
Starsky knew Hutch was right, but he wasn’t sure what to do about it. He remembered when they were new detectives, two of the youngest that had ever been given the gold shield. He remembered getting in that crooked D.A. Henderson’s face, and brazenly telling him that he and Hutch would rather go out in a blaze of glory than sit around safely on their butts. He realized suddenly that he no longer felt that way. He didn’t want to sit around on his butt, but he wanted to be safe and keep Hutch safe. He wanted the both of them to live and love forever.
“Okay,” Starsky said reasonably, “let’s talk about tomorrow.”
“If you make one joke about getting married–”
“No jokes! I’m serious. The police department is constantly changing, especially now that money’s so tight. Dobey’s right about that. We’ve been just assuming that with our record we’re untouchable. But we’ve caused plenty of problems for the brass. Dobey’s been protecting us, we both know that. The work’s important to us. It’ll always be that. But if the department decides we have to do the work in a different way, we won’t have any say in our own future.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m just thinking that we might be better off getting ahead of the curve on this. If you were to get the lieutenant’s promotion while Dobey is still our Captain, you might be able to arrange it so that we could still work cases together.”
Hutch sat back against the couch. “Starsk…our partnership has always been based on equality. I’d be over you in that scenario. It would change our whole dynamic.”
Starsky nodded, acknowledging that. “It could. But at least we’d have some say in the matter. If they change the way the department works around us, then we’ve got no control at all.”
“You think I could watch you go out every day with a rookie in the car?” Hutch stared at him in astonishment.
Starsky ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t like that scenario myself, but…it’s bound to happen. I’ve got the most seniority, even over you. And new detectives are hardly rookies. They’ve all come up through the ranks just like us.”
Hutch stood up. “They’re not us. I don’t know how I could get through the day knowing you were out there with some kid, while I’m–”
Starsky gripped Hutch’s wrist. “Hey, come on. We’re just trying to work things out. We don’t have any answers yet. Calm down.”
Hutch sat again.
Starsky tried for a lighter tone. “Well…if we weren’t partners anymore, we really could get married.”
Hutch shook his head. “Not if I were a lieutenant in the same department. I’d be your supervisor technically. One of us would have to work in another department.”
“Man, we can’t catch a break,” Starsky said, realizing Hutch was right.
Hutch looked at him as if a new thought just occurred to him. “You really want to, don’t you? Get married. It’s not just a joke.”
Starsky wondered why he suddenly felt guilty, as if Hutch had caught him at something. But all he could think to say was, “Don’t you?”
Hutch paused as if weighing his words carefully. “If you’re asking me if I want to be with you and only you for as long as we both live, the answer is yes, of course. Absolutely. But if you’re asking me if I want to formalize that with a legal ceremony– Starsk, I’ve been married. I have no ambitions to do it again. I don’t see what it could possibly add to our relationship except legal and financial complications that would also directly affect our jobs.”
Feeling absurdly disappointed, Starsky tried to look at things from Hutch’s point of view. “I never thought of it that way. I guess I’m still reaching for that picket-fence fantasy I used to have when I dated women. It’s not like we could have kids or anything… I just… I haven’t been married. It was always something I was waiting to do when I found the right…person. And for the first time in my life, I’m positively certain I’ve found him. So for me, to have the ability to marry you, to formalize this incredible thing we have, is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“I’m sorry I don’t feel the same way about that, Starsky,” Hutch said sincerely, taking his partner’s hand. “It doesn’t mean I don’t love you with all I have.”
Starsky nodded. “I know that, Hutch. I don’t doubt your feelings.”
“I don’t want to be a lieutenant,” Hutch said firmly.
“Okay,” Starsky said. “I don’t want to train new detectives, either. So…we coast a while longer?”
“Maybe… I think Dobey made a good point about you getting your degree, though.”
Starsky groaned and started to protest but Hutch cut him off.
“If you got your degree…at some point, we could both go for the lieutenant’s exam. You’d be eligible for other promotions, like I am. We could move forward together.”
“Maybe.” Starsky had never enjoyed school. He was a doer, not a thinker. He did well in his classes, but took no joy in it.
“Well, without it, you definitely can’t move up. I know you’re not crazy about school, but I’ll help you.”
Starsky sighed. “Okay. I’ll start looking into what I need.” He tapped the newspaper that was sitting by the forms for the lieutenant’s exam. “What about a house? How do you feel about that?”
“I feel like we might as well get married first and make a major announcement. We’re not just two partners, Starsky, we’re us. We’re lovers. Getting a house together is just rubbing people’s noses in it.”
Starsky wiped a hand over his face. “This is because of the conversation with Huggy, isn’t it?” He wasn’t about to bring up his conversation with Minnie.
“Huggy. Dobey. They’re just the tip of the iceberg. Years ago, when people didn’t dare utter the word, ‘gay,’ two guys living together as roommates was no big deal. Today, as open as everything is, I think it might bring a lot of unwarranted attention from IA if we actually bought a place together. I think we need to be more cautious, not less.”
Starsky winced. “Don’t tell me you want to start dating women again?” They’d tried to continue dating right after they became lovers to allay any suspicions. “I can’t go through that–”
“No, I’m not saying that,” Hutch insisted. “I hated that, too. I think it was those few months when we were trying to maintain some kind of cover that I realized I couldn’t even feign interest in anyone else.”
“Is that really it, Hutch?” Starsky asked quietly.
“Yeah, of course. Why? Do you think it’s something else?”
“I can’t help but wonder. You were married once. And you got burned pretty bad. It can put a person off, maybe forever. I’m just wondering if really, the problem is, you’re not comfortable with permanence. If the thought of a forever relationship is just a little strangling for you.”
Hutch started to answer then paused. “That was true when I was still dating women. After what I went through with Vanessa, I never wanted to marry again. It certainly affected every relationship I had with women after that. Sooner or later–and it was usually sooner–they’d figure that out. Even if Abbey hadn’t had to deal with that attack from that psycho, she would have bailed eventually. She was looking at forever; I was only looking at today. And I was looking at today with my partner, not with her.”
Hutch took both of Starsky’s hands in his. “But that’s not the way I feel about you. We have a life together, a good life. One I will do everything in my power to keep safe. I’m not afraid of forever with you. I want to ensure it! Maybe that’s why so much of this stuff seems dangerous to me. As long as we’re flying under the radar, it feels safer. Risking exposure feels like opening our whole relationship to unwanted scrutiny, other peoples’ judgments, unwarranted criticism….”
“And you think we can’t handle that?”
“I’m sure we can. I just don’t want to. And I don’t want to risk our partnership. I need to be with you every day. The days when I’m in court and you’re not make me crazy.”
“…Because of the Gunther hit…” It hurt Starsky that getting shot had such a profound effect on Hutch.
“No!” Hutch insisted. “I mean…that might have ramped things up a bit for me, but that’s not really why. It’s because I’ve never been in love like this before. Not with Vanessa, not with anyone. You think I’m afraid of permanence?” Hutch laughed. “It’s all I want with you! If you left me tomorrow for someone else, I’d be trapped forever waiting for you to come back. My love for you is all I can feel, like there’s no room for any other emotion, any other need–” Hutch’s voice started to crack.
Starsky moved closer, and took Hutch’s face in his hands. “Well, you can stop worrying about that right now. Because I am never going to leave you, not ever. I love you. With or without a picket fence, a wedding ring, or a marriage license. I love you. That’s forever, I swear it.”
Hutch crushed Starsky to him roughly, as though it were the first time Starsky had uttered those words, as though he had not said it the first day he confessed his feelings for Hutch and many times since then. Just as then, Hutch was overwhelmed hearing those words, his passion overriding everything. Hutch kissed him hard and Starsky was happy to return it in kind. He marveled once more at Hutch’s intensity, his need, and rejoiced that it was simply for him. All for him. He wasn’t about to give it up, not for anything.
He yielded willingly to Hutch’s need, something he couldn’t imagine ever doing with anyone else. As Hutch plundered his mouth, Starsky’s kiss went soft, letting Hutch know without words he could have whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, whenever he needed it.
Hutch responded instantly, reading his partner’s body response as instinctively as when they were on the streets. He gentled slightly, sighing, his hands going after Starsky’s buttons, his zipper, doing an inadequate job on both while their mouths were still engaged.
Hutch pushed him down as they continued kissing, their tongues dancing urgently in a familiar give and take that even after all this time seemed so new to Starsky. Kissing a man. Him, kissing a man, and loving it. Needing it. Wanting it like he’d never wanted the softer touch of a woman.
He was already hard, as quick on the rise as he’d been as a teenager. As Hutch covered him with his own body, Starsky felt his partner’s answering hardness pressing against his thigh and that only made him harder. Trapped in his jeans, his erection became painful, and even that excited him. Only Hutch had this effect on him anymore. Only Hutch.
He pulled at Hutch’s soft flannel overshirt, then tugged his form fitting green t-shirt out of his pants. He needed skin contact, needed it bad. When he ran the flat of his hands over Hutch’s back, Hutch moaned into his mouth, nearly making Starsky laugh. He was so easy, his blond. So responsive to the slightest touch. He’d waited for it so long, he never got over the novelty of it. Starsky touching him, not just in friendship, but in passion. Having that kind of power over a man as strong as Hutch still amazed Starsky. A man so dangerous, so powerful he could take down a felon half again his size. But all it took to excite him was the simple touch of Starsky’s hands.
Using that magical power, Starsky slid his hands under the waistband of Hutch’s jeans and inside his boxers, eager to touch and explore that part of Hutch that, only five years ago, would’ve seemed forever forbidden. The baby-smooth skin of Hutch’s ass trembled under Starsky’s searching fingers, and Hutch’s gasping breath caught in his throat. His kiss gentled even more as if the sensations were overwhelming, as if he couldn’t concentrate on what his own body was doing because he had to focus on Starsky’s touch. Starsky was happy to oblige.
His mouth took charge now, kissing Hutch lightly on the lips, teasing his tongue, nipping his lower lip to keep him off balance. Hutch’s hands were almost useless, tugging at Starsky’s half-opened shirt, the jean’s zipper that wouldn’t yield, the belt that stubbornly remained fastened. Tension in Hutch’s body as Starsky stroked his ass radiated frustrated need.
Starsky smiled. That’s right, baby blue. Need me. Need me.
Starsky’s mouth moved over Hutch’s face in gentle teasing kisses, to the side of his nose, his cheek, his jaw. Traveling lower over Hutch’s neck, his tongue traced runes over the arching length as Hutch’s head came up, giving Starsky total access. Part of him wanted to bite and suck and mark his man for everyone to see. But he never would. Hutch wore too many marks of pain from the world, too many scars, too much bruising. As much as Starsky wanted to see his own mark there in public, he also wanted just one time to see Hutch’s nude body without a single wounded blemish. So his lips and tongue were content to write invisible love notes instead.
As if that attention pushed Hutch past his patience, he reared up on his knees, his legs trapping Starsky’s hips between them, and tackled Starsky’s zipper with both hands, totally focused. Starsky gripped Hutch’s shirt, trying to pull him back down, but Hutch only knocked his hand away, and refocused on the zipper. Finally freeing the recalcitrant teeth, Hutch gripped Starsky’s waistband in both hands, and yanked the skinny jeans roughly over Starsky’s hips. They resisted enough that Hutch had to yank again, then again.
“Dammit, Starsky, you’re too old to be wearing these teenagers’ pants!”
Starsky just laughed. “You mean you’re too old to figure out how to get ’em off me in a hurry.”
As if that were the final impetus he needed, Hutch heaved the pants below Starsky’s crotch. His erect cock snapped out painfully, making him howl when it slapped hard against his belly. The next sensation nearly made him come as Hutch’s wet warm mouth enveloped it completely in a tight but tender grip.
Starsky arched up helplessly and howled again as sensations so sharply pleasurable rocketed up his spine and down his legs. Hutch pinned his hips to the couch, sucking him, tonguing him, devouring him with an appetite Starsky knew he could never quench. “Jeezus, Hutch, easy, easy!”
Hutch ignored him. At this moment, he was taking Starsky the way he wanted. At this moment, he owned him, and Starsky knew it. All he could do was hang on and ride it out. And love it.
“Wait, wait!” Starsky implored, but Hutch wasn’t hearing it. He wanted Starsky the way he wanted life itself, and Starsky’s cock was the conduit to that wanting. Hutch’s need for him was bottomless. It was like drowning, Starsky thought, being in Hutch’s mouth, being the sole focus of that amazing hunger. Like drowning in passion, being sucked under a tidal wave of pleasure he had no interest in resisting.
Hutch gripped his hips as he worked him mercilessly, sucking, his tongue stroking, his throat swallowing around Starsky’s most sensitive flesh. But Hutch himself was out of reach. If they were in bed, Starsky could return the favor and they would both climb together, come together as they sucked each other off. But on the couch, all Starsky could do was stroke and pull Hutch’s hair as he watched Hutch’s mouth work its magic.
He was climbing all alone, he thought, unable to temper Hutch’s need with his own actions. When Hutch got like this, there was no slowing him down.
Hutch suddenly reached into Starsky’s pants and, more carefully than Starsky expected, pulled his testicles free of the denim and rolled them in his big hand. For a shocking second, Starsky was sure he was going to come hard in Hutch’s mouth, but he managed to hold it back. The feelings were too good to give up too quickly. He had to shut his eyes to try to hold onto it. Was Hutch trying to kill him?
He’d never felt helpless with a lover, not until Hutch. It was a sensation he’d had to adjust to, and at times it was still hard to yield. This was one of those times. Trapped in his clothes, unable to participate except in only the slightest way, he knew Hutch needed something from him only he could give. Gasping for breath, he urged his body to relax and surrender. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yeah, baby. I’m yours. Only yours.”
Hutch moaned around Starsky’s cock as he heard those words. He tightened his hand around Starsky’s testicles just the right amount as he took Starsky even deeper into his throat. It was the last straw for Starsky’s overwrought nervous system. He swallowed a shout behind his teeth as he came deep in Hutch’s mouth. Hutch took it all without hesitation, and that only made Starsky come harder. He was gripping the couch as his hips thrust deeper and deeper into Hutch until he was empty. He kept his eyes shut. He knew Hutch wasn’t done with him, not by a long shot.
Hutch moved off him suddenly, letting Starsky’s nearly flaccid cock flop wetly against his belly. “Let’s go to bed, babe,” Starsky said, hoping the distraction would temper Hutch’s urgency.
Hutch didn’t answer him, just took three long-legged strides into the kitchen to grab something from the fridge. Starsky hoped it was orange juice. He was parched. But he could see that whatever Hutch had gripped in his big hand wasn’t a juice container.
“Lemme get outta these clothes,” Starsky continued, pushing himself up on his elbows, and looking down at his semi-dressed ravaged body. What did they say in those old westerns? Oh, yeah, he looked like he’d been ridden hard and put up wet…whatever that meant.
Hutch said nothing, just came back to the couch with the same determined expression he’d worn through the entire act. Reaching around Starsky’s back with one hand, Hutch finally said, “I’ll take care of that.” With a strength that always surprised him, Hutch gripped the waistband of Starsky’s jeans, now tight around Starsky’s hips, and used it flip Starsky onto his stomach.
“Hey! Wait a minute! Can’t we move this to the bedroom like civilized people?” Starsky still felt trapped in his clothes and confined on the narrow couch.
But apparently, that was the way Hutch wanted him. Dropping something onto the coffee table, Hutch gripped Starsky’s waistband in both hands and hauled it over his ass and lower down his legs until his jeans were trapped around his ankles. “We go to bed, you fall asleep.”
“That would never happen! I promise!” Starsky was lying through his teeth, and knew Hutch knew that. The only thing keeping him awake right now was Hutch manhandling him and the nervous anticipation of what was about to happen next.
Hutch just laughed and stripped off his own jeans and boxers, then knelt between Starsky’s spread knees. His feet and ankles rested on Starsky’s bunched up jeans effectively immobilizing his legs. Starsky gasped as Hutch shoved his t-shirt higher up his back. Gripping a small pillow, Starsky pulled it under his chest for leverage at the same time Hutch reached behind them for the other pillow and shoved it under Starsky’s groin.
“If we took this into the bedroom, we wouldn’t have to send the couch covers to the dry cleaners again,” Starsky said.
Hutch nipped him hard on his rear, making him lurch. Starsky could feel him fumbling with something and looked back to see him unwrapping a small piece of butter. So, that’s what he pulled from the refrigerator.
“Hutch, wait a minute! That’s gonna be–”
Hutch pulled a wad of butter off the stick and pressed it against Starsky’s rectum.
“Cold!” he yelped as Hutch rubbed it over his anus and perineum. Bucking and lurching, his trapped legs didn’t allow much movement, so Hutch had no trouble lubricating him, even slipping some of the butter inside.
“It’ll be warm in a minute,” Hutch said matter-of-factly, as if he were only putting together a recipe.
Soon, Hutch’s massaging fingers were slippery smooth with the melting butter as he rubbed the slick grease all along Starsky’s crack and over his way-too-sensitive balls.
The odd sensation of cold and pressure against his most intimate parts started making Starsky hard again, much to his own surprise. But that’s the way it was with them. The sex was so crazy good, his recovery sometimes rivaled his teenage years. No woman ever had that effect on him. Like the butter, Starsky felt himself melting against the couch cushions, relaxing, wanting to yield again to this man. How did Hutch do that?
“I’m gonna get you for this, you bastard,” Starsky swore ineffectively as his body responded helplessly to Hutch’s tormenting fingers.
“Countin’ on it,” Hutch said huskily.
Starsky couldn’t help himself and started writhing under Hutch’s demanding hands. He moaned, clutching the pillow hard, wanting to escape and wanting to be held at the same time.
“That’s right,” Hutch said, “dance for me, baby. Dance.”
Starsky felt him handling the butter stick again and looked back to see him using it on himself. Watching Hutch wrap both his big hands around the club of his cock made Starsky’s semi-soft erection throb. When Hutch shuddered for a moment and stroked himself, Starsky actually felt jealous.
“I thought you were saving all that for me,” he complained.
Hutch opened his eyes and smiled. “That what you want?”
Starsky’s stomach lurched in desire, but he turned away, almost embarrassed by his own raw need. “In the bedroom, sure. Too uncomfortable out here.”
Hutch leaned over him to whisper in his ear. “You’re such a liar.”
Starsky shut his eyes. Hutch knew him too well, knew just how much he hungered for Hutch. Hutch’s fingertips, thick with melted butter, rimmed Starsky’s anus with the lightest touch. It was like an electric prod to his already frazzled nerve endings. He jumped and felt his anus wink, ready to open for Hutch. Only Hutch.
“It’s more comfortable than the kitchen table,” Hutch reminded him.
Starsky groaned. He couldn’t handle it when Hutch talked about all the crazy places they’d had sex.
“Way more comfortable than against the front door.” Hutch’s voice was low. “Or the shower wall.” The tip of his middle finger pressed against Starsky’s anus insistently.
Starsky tried to spread his legs wider and couldn’t. Suddenly, being trapped like this seemed the most erotic thing he’d ever done. His cock came up harder. How was that possible?
“And so much more comfortable than the hood of that hot red Camaro of yours.”
“Don’t!” Starsky warned. Don’t talk about that! Hutch had nailed him on the car in the privacy of Starsky’s garage only a week after he’d gotten it off the showroom floor, in protest against Starsky’s obsessive chattering about his new sports car and its custom paint job. His ejaculate had nearly ruined the paint, but it was one of the hottest moments they’d ever had. He blanked his mind, not daring to remember it.
Hutch laughed. “Remember how that warm hood felt against your bare belly? How uncomfortable that was?” To emphasize, Hutch slowly slid his finger deep inside Starsky’s body.
Trembling all over, Starsky moaned in passion, his body opening up completely, inviting his lover in. Hutch accepted the invitation and slid his hand out. Pressing the broad head of his cock against Starsky’s ass, Hutch said clearly, “I love you, Starsky,” and slid into him on a tide of warm butter.
He was well and truly trapped now, as Hutch moved into him to the hilt, pressing his groin tight against Starsky’s ass, needing to be closer, closer yet. He pressed his body against Starsky’s pushing him deep into the couch cushions, wanting him to know just how trapped, how possessed he was by Hutch’s need, Hutch’s overwhelming love for him. Hutch’s hands, still slippery, slid over Starsky’s chest, as if he needed to feel every square inch of him, needed to be sure every atom of his being was involved in their lovemaking.
He pinched Starsky’s nipples hard as he slid his cock out to the tip then plunged back in again. The onslaught of sensation was like drowning, Starsky thought, drowning in passion. He gulped for air and bucked up trying to get closer to Hutch.
Hutch stroked his body, his chest, his side, then moved his questing hands lower, lower, until he could envelop Starsky’s cock and balls completely in his slick hands. Starsky thought his cock couldn’t get any harder, but he should’ve known better. Hutch played him like an instrument as he moved in and out of his body, making sure that Starsky was getting the maximum pleasure Hutch could wring out of him.
Starsky gripped the couch cushions as if afraid he’d fall off or float away if he wasn’t grounded. Hutch fucked him methodically, as if he could do this all night. At first, Starsky feared that he could and then hoped for it. If he thought he’d been ridden hard before, he didn’t know the half of it.
When Starsky thought he couldn’t handle another minute of such intense pleasure, Hutch picked up the pace and Starsky knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Muttering, “Please, please…” in a soft cadence, he heard Hutch growl low and felt the tension cresting in his body. “I love you, babe,” Starsky said, unsure if Hutch could hear him in the haze of his passion.
He must have, because as soon as he said it, Hutch froze and Starsky felt him swell even harder inside him. Hutch came then pulsing deeply, thrusting shallowly, and pressing his face against Starsky’s spine. Amazingly, Starsky felt his cock jump and he came again.
How does he manage to do this to me, Starsky wondered. He sighed as Hutch collapsed bonelessly over him. His entire body tingled and trembled and shuddered as if they were in the middle of an earthquake. Yeah. The earth moved….
Hutch sighed and his weight settled over Starsky like a heavy blanket.
“Hey, don’t go sleep, babe!” Starsky said, trying to shift under him. Hutch’s weight only seemed to increase. “Hutch! Hutch! You weigh a ton. Wake up!” All he got for his effort was a soft snore next to his ear. He was trapped. The ridiculous situation suddenly seemed funny to him and he started to laugh, even though Hutch’s weight was making it hard to breathe.
The bouncing motion from his laughter finally roused Hutch to semi-wakefulness. “Huh? Wha’ssup?”
“You better be,” Starsky said, still laughing, “or you’re gonna have a squashed partner. Get up, ya big lug!”
Hutch shifted, looking around as if he couldn’t remember how they got where they were, then he started to laugh, too. “‘S not my fault. That’s the affect you have on me.” He pushed himself off Starsky with some effort, stood up, then leaned over to help his partner maneuver out of his pants.
“So, I have this magical power that renders you helpless and forever in my thrall?” Starsky said, grinning.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Hutch said, smirking, as they shuffled wearily into the bathroom to clean up. “Let’s just say you have this magical power to put me to sleep.”
“Uh-huh. And you have this magical power to make me walk funny the next day.” He’d be feeling every old injury tomorrow, but it was worth it. He only hoped he’d remember that when he was moving like an old man. As they left the bathroom, Starsky thought Hutch’s bed never looked so inviting.
“You walk funny every day,” Hutch said, sliding in on his side after shedding the rest of his clothes.
The met in the middle of the bed, and still affected by the afterglow of their love making, spooned together, Hutch pulling Starsky’s back against his front. As Starsky settled happily in Hutch’s embrace, he realized that their earlier conversation hadn’t settled anything. He tried not to worry about it, but just let sleep take him.
“Starsk,” Hutch said, sounding clearer than Starsky expected him to.
“Um?”
“Listen…uh, if things were different with our jobs…I’d marry you.”
Starsky couldn’t help but tense up. “It’s a little late for pillow talk between us, isn’t it? Should I ask if you’re gonna respect me in the morning?”
Hutch snorted. “If I wasn’t so tired, I’d say what makes you think I respect you any morning?”
“Yeah, good thing you’re too tired to be snarky!”
“I’m being serious. All the things I said to you earlier still apply — I’ve got no desire to actually get married, but my commitment to you is forever. If we could get married, I’d be happy to marry you. I’d do it because it means something to you…and that’s enough for me.”
Starsky was confused. “You’re just saying that because we–”
“No! I mean… Listen, I’ve slept with a lot of women over the years, you know that. Some of them I loved deeply, others I barely knew. None of them ever made me feel the depth of emotion I experience when we’re making love. I don’t think I ever understood what those words meant — making love — until I did it with you. When we’re together, I feel all those crazy things they tell you you’re supposed to feel with the person you really love. It’s what I’ve been missing all those other times. I guess it finally hit me on the couch — this is it — the real thing. And when you find the real thing, you get married. I finally understood what you’ve been saying. You believe me?”
Starsky relaxed a little. “Sure. You always were a little slow on the uptake. Good thing you’ve got me to help you figure out life’s great mysteries.”
Hutch squeezed him a little tighter. “I’m going to ignore that. But I think we should agree that as soon as we retire, we’ll get married.”
“That soon, huh?” Starsky had to smile.
“Yeah. I figure by then it’ll be legal in every state in the union, except maybe Alabama. And who wants to honeymoon in Alabama?”
Retire, Starsky thought, and remembered again the conversation with Henderson about going out in a blaze of glory. He’d meant it at the time. That was before he almost did. He’d heard the stories of Hutch’s rage-fueled solo quest to find the perpetrators. Suddenly, being able to retire didn’t seem like an impossible dream, but a goal.
“We should look for a house tomorrow,” Hutch said, his voice slurring with sleepiness.
Startled even more, Starsky blurted, “Man, I really did fuck you senseless.”
“Uh-uh,” Hutch grunted. “Serious.”
“What about ‘rubbing people’s noses in it’?”
“Fuck ’em,” Hutch said and his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.
Yeah, okay, Starsky thought, loving Hutch’s willingness to change. But he suspected it might not last in the cold light of day. That was okay with him. Hutch was opening his heart, and that was a good thing for them both.
~~~
Hutch checked his grocery list against the accumulated goods he already had in his cart. He was standing in the produce aisle in Von’s, trying to decide if he had a chance in hell of getting Starsky to eat Lucinato kale. He’d seen this recipe for making kale chips that said they tasted as good as potato chips. Maybe if he told Starsky it was called “dinosaur” kale he might have a shot at enticing him to put something green in his body that wasn’t mint chocolate chip ice cream. But if Starsky ever found out he was looking up Martha Stewart recipes, he’d never live it down.
He started to smile. Now I’m in the Martha Stewart closet. How many closets can one man live in at one time?
He grabbed the stack of kale and dropped it in the cart. Starsky had said he wanted to look for something at the bookstore next door. That meant Hutch had all the time in the world to finish food shopping without Starsky dropping bags of cookies and potato chips in the cart so he could, “Survive another week of healthy living,” with Hutch.
Suddenly, Marvin Gaye erupted from the cell phone in his breast pocket so loudly he jumped. “You, you are my pride and joy, And a love like mine, yeah baby, is something nobody can ever destroy–“
“Shit!” Hutch hissed, fumbling to get the loud phone out of his pocket quickly so he could terminate the ring. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to change his password after the Salt n’ Pepa incident.
“You pick me up (pick me up) when I’m down (when I’m down),” Marvin and chorus continued. A young woman pushing a cart nearby started smiling at him, and winked. He felt his face flush red. “And when we go out, pretty baby, You shake up the whole town–“
Finally extracting the phone, he answered the call and sputtered, “Starsky, I swear I–”
But Starsky wasn’t talking to him. Or listening either. Hutch suddenly realized that what he was hearing was background sounds. Loud ones. Had Starsky butt-called him? He had a bad habit of keeping his phone in the back pocket of the teenager-style skinny jeans he insisted on wearing. He said the adult-style baggier jeans had too much “wind resistance” and slowed him down when chasing a perp. Hutch knew damned well his partner just wanted to make sure the ladies admired his amazing ass. Hutch, too. It wasn’t the first time Starsky’s gorgeous rear had accidentally called Hutch.
Then Hutch finally understood what he was hearing in the background.
In the distance, a man yelled, “This can’t be all you got in the till, bitch! It’s nearly Valentine’s day. You’ve been selling shit hand over fist. Where’s the rest of the money?”
His entire world constricted to the drama on his phone. He could barely hear the clerk’s response. “My boss took it to the bank already–” Then she gave a short squeal, as if she’d been hit.
“Hey, take it easy,” Starsky’s voice, suddenly loud, came through the phone. Hutch’s relief at hearing him was overwhelming. “She’s tellin’ you the truth. She can’t give you what she ain’t got. Take what’s there and–”
“You shut the fuck up, cop!” a really loud male voice shouted. A different man. He had to be right next to Starsky to be so clear. “Hey, lookit this! Nice gun, chump. I’ll take that. Ever think you might get shot with your own gun?”
Hutch bolted for the manager’s office. Starsky must’ve managed to hit the speed dial on the phone in his pocket so Hutch could hear what was going on. He barged into the manager’s office and grabbed the first person he found. It was the assistant manager, and because this was their local store, she knew Hutch.
“Rita, quick. Call 911, tell them the bookstore’s getting robbed and an officer and a civilian are being held at gunpoint. There’s at least two armed men. Do you know if the bookstore’s back door is kept locked?”
The middle-aged woman looked frightened, but she was already reaching for the phone. “Not usually. Some of the young clerks come out to smoke, so they keep it open.”
“Tell the 911 operator I’m going in.”
“Hutch! You should wait for them to send help–”
She was talking to his back as he raced toward the rear of the supermarket. He’d managed to keep the phone to his ear the whole time, terrified he was about to hear Starsky get shot down in cold blood with his own weapon. It hadn’t happened yet, but the gunman had continued to taunt him with it. Starsky’s voice sounded almost preternaturally calm, as he tried to convince the gunmen his smartest move would be to take whatever money was available, including what he had in his own wallet, and split while they could.
“You don’t even remember me, do ya, cop?” the gunman closest to him said. Starsky didn’t answer. “You busted me five years ago. I did four years hard time behind that fall.”
Don’t say anything smart ass, Starsky, please!
“If you walk out of here now,” Starsky said softly, “you could get away clean and–”
“He’s got a point, man,” the distant gunman who must’ve been up by the sales counter added. “I’ve got the cash register money. Let’s split now.”
“So this cop can finger me again? I don’t think so.”
Hutch struggled to control his fear as he burst through the back door of Von’s and raced to the bookstore. Once there, he had to control the urge to charge in guns blazing. Instead, he quietly turned the back door’s knob, and managed to open the door without a click or squeak. He slid into the store, gun drawn. Crouching down, he crept around boxes of books. Finally, he was able to peer into the store.
All he could see was merchandise. He couldn’t get a clear view of the front of the store or the aisle Starsky was in. Which means they can’t see me either. Staying low, he moved quickly around the stacks, trying to get closer to the front. He wouldn’t let himself think that he might be too late. He’d turned the phone’s volume down low so it wouldn’t carry, but still allow him to follow the argument between the two gunmen, and Starsky’s carefully reasoned responses.
Finally, Hutch spied Starsky. He was standing in the middle of an aisle of greeting cards, his arms raised. Cards and assorted broken brick-a-brack littered the floor around him. The sales girl behind the counter was crying and holding her face, probably where she’d been struck. She was a tiny thing, barely five feet, pretty, with neat cornrows trailing down her neck. A tall, rangy man with dirty blond hair who was wearing a blue t-shirt hovered over her, holding her arm roughly, his gun wavering.
The second gunman was shorter than Starsky, African-American or Jamaican maybe, with a broad frame and dark shirt. He stood close to Starsky, but not so close that Starsky could make a grab for the weapon and wrestle it from him. If Hutch tried to take a shot from here, he’d only hit Starsky. The girl behind the counter was out of the line of fire. But the man holding her would easily be able to take a shot at Starsky or Hutch once Hutch made his presence known. He needed to get Starsky out of the way before he could do anything.
He glanced at his phone. Thumbing through his ringtones, he ramped up the volume, hit a button, and tossed the phone over to the next aisle.
Marvin Gaye blared out at maximum volume, “You, you are my pride and joy–“
Both gunmen swung their weapons toward the noise.
Hutch shouted, “STARSKY, GET DOWN.” Starsky obeyed instantly. When he hit the floor, Hutch shot the man holding Starsky’s weapon. The young woman behind the counter screamed and dropped out of sight.
As soon as she did, Starsky grabbed his weapon from the hand of the fallen gunman, and aimed it at the man at the counter, who was clearly baffled by the rapid turn of events. “FREEZE,” Starsky shouted, “or I’ll shoot!”
Hutch was already on his feet, running forward, focusing his aim on the standing gunman. “Drop your weapon, drop it now!”
Obviously dismayed at how quickly things had gone so wrong, the gunman did as he was told, and put his hands in the air as a chorus of sirens suddenly cut through the air.
Starsky was checking the pulse of the man Hutch had shot as Hutch strode toward the counter. “Hands on your head. Get on the ground,” he ordered the standing gunman, who quickly obeyed. Hutch scooped up the dropped gun and frisked the man quickly then cuffed him. Then Hutch stood and came around the counter.
“Miss, are you all right?” he asked, bending towards the young clerk.
“Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot me, please!” she sobbed, backing away from him, terrified.
“It’s okay, Miss,” Hutch soothed, realizing neither he nor Starsky had ever identified themselves. “I’m a cop. Let me help you. Are you hurt?”
“Oh, you’re the police? Where did you come from?” she said, sniffling, as she stood and tried to get control of her emotions. “He hit me really hard.”
“Here, sit down,” Hutch said, guiding her to the stool behind her counter. “We’ll get the paramedics to check you out. It’s all over now. Try to relax. You were very brave.” He was doing his best to care for her, but he was distracted. He wanted to check on Starsky.
Starsky finally stood, pocketing the other gunman’s weapons. He glanced at the unmoving man, looked at Hutch, and shook his head.
Dead, thought Hutch, with little regret. He’d never threaten anyone again.
“I’m–I’m okay now,” the clerk said, wiping her eyes. Police cars were pulling up in front of the bookstore, lights flashing.
“Good,” said Hutch. “I need to confer with my partner. You just sit here ’til we can get the paramedics.”
Finally, he could approach Starsky. The adrenaline rush was leaving Hutch shaky. He wanted to grab Starsky, hold him, and part of him wanted to break down and cry. He could do none of those things. “That was quick thinking,” he said, instead. “Hitting the call button on the phone. Are you okay? Did he–?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a goose egg,” Starsky said dismissively. “He clocked me a good one when he realized I was a cop.”
“Are you okay?” Hutch asked again, peering at Starsky’s head. He knew if he tried to find the knot, Starsky would slap his hands away, but it was everything he could do not to try.
Starsky looked at him straight on. “I’m embarrassed.”
“What?”
Starsky lowered his voice as other cops came in and started securing the scene. “He got the drop on me. It shoulda never happened.”
Hutch sighed. Ever since Gunther, Starsky was prone to second guess his every response — was he fast enough, strong enough, quick enough–
Starsky bent over and picked up something from the floor. “Shit.”
“What is it?” Hutch tried to see what Starsky was holding in his hand, cradling it as if it were something valuable.
“He got the drop on me because I was looking at this. I was gonna get it for you,” Starsky said softly. “For, you know…Valentine’s day. I thought…it just kinda said something to me…about us…” Starsky held the object out to Hutch. “He came right up on me because I was distracted….”
Hutch stared at it in dismay. It was maybe three inches square, a little clay or resin plaque that had broken in two pieces. The piece that had broken off was merely decorative. It had broken at a weak spot where crude stone-like hearts had been cut out of the resin. When Starsky had dropped it, it broke cleanly. The hearts were still attached to the part that had the saying, which was intact. The motto read, “As long as we’re together, the rest will fall in place.”
Hutch didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen Starsky do anything so overtly romantic before, and it threw him. This was his partner that eschewed soapy scenes whenever possible. And here he stood, looking more upset over a broken gift plaque than because he’d nearly been killed.
“You drive me crazy,” Hutch blurted. “We’re taking that home. Go pay for it, if she’ll let you. Then we’ve got to give our statements and take control of this scene. The steaks I put in our grocery cart are still sitting in the produce aisle getting warm.” Before he lost complete control of his seesawing emotions, he marched over to the uniforms who were lifting the handcuffed gunman to his feet.
~~~
“Can’t believe you two made the papers again,” Huggy said, showing Starsky the headline on his iPhone. It read, Bay City Finest Foil Holdup.
They were in Huggy’s place, enjoying a celebratory Valentine’s Day dinner at a private booth with Huggy and Minnie. Huggy usually went all out on Valentine’s Day: four special entrées and a variety of luscious desserts. The place was packed.
Starsky took the phone to look at the article. A color picture in the spread showed Starsky helping the young clerk into a waiting paramedic truck, where she had been checked out for a head injury. You could just see the edge of the sheet the coroner had thrown over the dead gunman in the bottom of the frame. Starsky marveled at how quickly the news trucks had arrived. In the next picture, Hutch was holding the arm of the handcuffed robber and ushering him into a squad car. Hutch was also waving the infamous Hutchinson finger around, giving orders to the half dozen uniforms that had responded to the call. Starsky thought he looked so handsome; such a commanding figure was his Hutch. He smiled.
“It wasn’t like we went looking for trouble,” Starsky protested.
“Since when have you two ever had to go looking for trouble?” Minnie asked, smirking.
One of Huggy’s waitresses arrived with a tray of platters. She put a rare prime rib in front of Starsky. A pile of garlic mashed potatoes oozing gravy sat next to it. Huggy’s special sautéed collards with bacon and hot sauce completed the plate. Maybe someday Hutch would figure out how to make greens like this that Starsky actually enjoyed. Though the weird green kale chips he made the other day weren’t bad. Almost like potato chips. Hutch had made him close his eyes to try them or they’d have never gotten in his mouth at all. He had to wonder where he’d found such a bizarre recipe.
Hutch’s plate had a pile of fried oysters on it, with greens, coleslaw, and a modest baked potato. Minnie had ordered the shrimp special, and Huggy was having the pork chops. They were already sharing Huggy’s Valentine’s gift, red wine he’d bought just for them to share. Starsky and Hutch were both still on administrative duty after the shooting. But they’d already been cleared by IA. They were just waiting on the paperwork that would get them off their desks and back on the streets.
He smiled again as he cut into his prime rib. The broken plaque sat on their shared desk where Hutch had put it. The store clerk had waved him away when he’d tried to pay for it, saying they’d be covered for broken merchandise.
“The guy Hutch shot,” Starsky said around a mouthful — earning him a look from his partner he ignored — “had a history of violent robberies that went back to his teens. He was a model prisoner, though, and always managed to get out early on parole. He’d barely been out two weeks before he hit the wrong store.”
“I’m beginning to think we should order groceries through the web,” Hutch said, spearing an oyster, “and stick to Amazon for everything else.”
They all laughed. Yeah, we can laugh about it now, Starsky thought. But when the gunman had gotten the drop on him, it was no laughing matter. Hutch told him to stop second-guessing himself, but he couldn’t help it. It would have been a stupid way to die, holding onto a soapy plaque while he stood mooning over the memories of their butter infused-lovemaking. They’d talked about it for a long time that night.
“There’s a hot rumor runnin’ ’round the precinct ’bout you two,” Minnie said, grinning at them as she bit into a shrimp.
They exchanged a glance and Hutch said, “Just one? I’m disappointed.”
“Hey, I thought I was the purveyor of info-may-tion around here,” Huggy said indignantly.
“On the street, baby,” Minnie said with a pat on his cheek. “In house, I’m the gal with the goods.”
“And a fine set of goods they are, too,” Starsky said, mostly because he was expected to.
Huggy shot him a narrow-eyed glare.
“Simmer down, boy,” Minnie said off-handedly.
“Before Starsky sidetracks us completely,” Hutch added, “what’s the latest rumor about us?”
“Rumor is,” Minnie said, drawing out the suspense, “you two are actually considering transferring out of the Zebra unit.”
They paused a beat, but finally Hutch said, “Well, not even Obama can keep state secrets from leaking.”
“Y’mean it’s true?” Huggy said, surprised.
“We’re looking into it.” Starsky sawed off another piece of prime rib. The meat was so tender, he could almost cut it with a fork. He figured Huggy had cooked it himself.
“We’ve been pushing our luck a long time,” Hutch told them.
“Maybe we should’ve done it after I recovered from the Gunther hit,” Starsky said. “But I wasn’t ready. I was determined to re-qualify. If we’d transferred then, it would’ve looked like Gunther knocked me out of the action.”
“As if anything could,” Hutch said, swallowing a mouthful of greens. His eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise. “Jeez, Huggy, these are hot.”
They all laughed as Hutch sucked in a mouthful of wine.
“I guess at the time,” Starsky said, “I felt like I was on borrowed time. That I had to get it all done really quick. Maybe the bookstore thing made me reconsider. Now, I want to borrow more time. Time for us.”
Minnie and Huggy exchanged a knowing glance.
“We talked to Dobey.” Hutch cut up his potato into manageable chunks. “Once he got over the disappointment that I wasn’t going out for the lieutenant’s exam, he got on board with it. After we make a final decision, I think he’ll make the transfer happen.”
“Where to?” Huggy said.
“We’re considering two units. One is a relatively new department,” Starsky told them. “The Cold Case Homicide Special Section. They’re using DNA searches and new technology to try and resolve cases that are at least five years cold. They’ve developed a reputation for clearing up some of the backlog of neglected homicides. It’s a place where good investigative work with new scientific abilities is really paying off. Their list of convictions is impressive.”
“We’re also looking at Missing Persons,” Hutch said. “There were over 40,000 missing persons in Bay City just last year. They, too, are using a lot of new technology to work up their cases. There’s more immediacy in that department, since the first forty-eight hours after a missing person report comes in can be the most critical. But they handle cold cases, too. They’re short staffed, but they’ve just got an influx of funding.”
“We know the lieutenants in both units,” Starsky said. “Alesha Bronson in Missing Persons, and Max Ngo in Cold Case. We’ve worked with them on other cases. They’re good, hardworking cops.”
“Well, the precinct’s all in a dither,” Minnie said smugly, “trying to figure out where you two fish are gonna land. It’s the biggest upset in the department in ten years.”
“You do know you will have to yield your world-famous call sign,” Huggy warned.
Starsky sighed and smiled at Hutch. “I don’t know how I’ll feel about them taking Zebra Three away from us.”
“Maybe we can get them to retire it,” Hutch said, commiserating. “Like famous football players.”
“You get a chance to take a peek at that house I turned you onto?” Huggy asked.
Hutch nodded. “Actually, yes. How’d you find that, Hug?”
“Owner is an old friend, good customer. When he told me he was movin’ up north to be with his daughter, that he was reluctant to put his house on the market, I thought of you two.”
“He could’ve made a killing if he had,” Starsky said. “Venice is hot, real-estate-wise.”
“That was his problem,” Huggy said. “The wolves were hounding him about selling it–so they could tear it down and put up some artsy millionaire’s house. He’d raised two kids in that house and lived with his wife of forty years in it ’til she passed last year. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone tearin’ it down to put up something only rich people could afford. He wanted it to be a home.”
“It’s got good bones,” Hutch said. “It needs a complete upgrade, but we can handle that one step at a time.”
“I sure haven’t seen harvest gold appliances in a long time,” Starsky said, laughing, “but everything was immaculate, and in perfect working order. Small, but tidy. Room enough.”
“Not on the beach, needless to say, but close enough to hear it. Walking distance.” Hutch smiled. “Good sized yard. His wife had some nice plantings. Kind of overrun now, but that’ll be fun to work on.”
Starsky remembered Hutch prowling around the grounds, naming this plant and that. The old man’s wife had one of those little garden flags stuck in the middle of a patch of low growing sedums. The slightly faded flag said, “Welcome” and had a rainbow on it. They both looked at each other when they saw it, like it was a sign for them.
“Kinda surprised me when you asked about property,” Huggy said.
“Yeah, well,” Hutch said as he and Starsky exchanged a glance, “we sat down with a detective in Homicide, Yost. He and his partner are becoming mini-real-estate moguls. They pick up a house, live in it while upgrading it, then sell it at a profit. After the downturn, they thought they’d get stuck with the last one, but because they’re also living in the house, it worked out anyway. They just turned it and picked up another one. Apparently, a few other partners are doing the same thing. Enhancing their retirement funds.”
“Can you believe it?” Starsky said snidely. “We’re part of a trend.”
“Anyway,” Hutch continued, “because of that, I don’t think we’ll draw any more unwanted attention than we usually do.”
“So, Hutch,” Minnie asked quietly, “is Starsky gonna be changing your ring tone to ‘Goin’ to the Chapel’ anytime soon?”
“Not if he wants to live,” Hutch said ominously.
Starsky cracked up. “Hey, I know when to push my luck, and when to let it go. No…Hutch and I have set a definite date…for the week after we’re officially retired.”
Huggy laughed. “Sure, that’s a definite date. So, you’ll be what–eighty?”
“Yeah, in a world of instant gratification, I know waiting for the right time is totally passé. I don’t think retirement is that far away,” Hutch said. “Let’s see what happens after we settle into our new jobs.”
“Once we make up our minds which one we’re choosing,” Starsky said.
Huggy refilled everyone’s wine glass. Lifting his, he said, “Then that calls for another toast. To the future, and all the new paths we’ve yet to travel.” They clinked together and sipped.
“I just got one question,” Minnie said when they put their glasses down. “What spurred all this change in direction — new jobs, new house, plans for the future. That’s the kinda thing I would’ve thought you’d’ve done right after Gunther. Not four years later. It couldn’t have been that hold up in the bookstore?”
Hutch looked at Starsky, and his eyes got soft. “No, but maybe that was a final contributing factor. We just decided it was time. That…as long as we’re together…the rest will fall in place.”
Starsky felt his throat tighten as Hutch said those words. How weird that such a small thing could push them to decisions they’d been simply moving too fast to make before. Starsky no longer cared that any real marriage plans would have to wait for retirement. Hutch had made his commitment. They were going to live together and stop visiting apartments. He didn’t care that they’d have two bedrooms for appearances. He felt good about shifting careers out of the Zebra unit, and he thought Dobey was happy about it, too.
He realized as he took another sip of Huggy’s fine wine, that he was really happy. He had Hutch. He had a career that made a difference and would continue to. He had his health. And the house they were going to put a bid on even had a picket fence around it.
He lifted his glass for another toast. “To partners.”
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Oh I love this! I’d love to read more modern Starsky and Hutch fics! What a great idea!