Why I Became A Detective

An older Starsky and Hutch look back on their Academy days.

Originally published in the Boys In Blue zine, published in 2008 by Enednoviel.

“It was a dark night, but not a dark and stormy one, as Snoopy would write. But it was pitch black. The smog left over from that day still hovered and obscured the whiteness of the moon, leaving shadows to linger throughout the city.”

Hutch wrinkled his face in confusion. He looked up from the manuscript he was reading to his long-time partner who was waiting with baited breath, sitting on the edge of a kitchen chair across from Hutch. “Starsky, I’m confused. I thought this was supposed to be a book on what it takes to be in law enforcement and what to expect.”

Starsky cringed. “Borrring! No, that’s what you thought I should write. I wanted to write about why we became cops, what we thought about seeing all the bad stuff, things like that.”

“Okay, but why that beginning? I mean, you were assigned to first shift during your uniform days, and then we worked mostly first shift during our partnership. So why the ‘dark and stormy night’ bit?” Hutch mocked.

Indicating the first passage with his finger, Starsky pointed out that he specifically wrote that it was not a ‘dark and stormy night.’ “So there.”

“Whatever.” Hutch rolled his eyes. “You get my drift.”

Starsky explained, “Well, I wanted to novelize the stories more.”

“So basically, this book is nothing like it started out to be?”

Starsky made no apologies. Just shrugged his shoulders and waved his hand. “So go on, read it. Let me know what you think.” And he promptly sat back at attention, watching his lover with still vibrant blue, wide eyes.

Which made Hutch nervous. After a few moments, he peered back over the typed pages. “Starsky! I can’t finish a—what, one hundred and fifty page?—novel in one sitting. Go light somewhere else.”

He turned back to Starsky’s unpublished manuscript. Once the other man left the kitchen, he began to immerse himself in Starsky’s narrative…

***

It was a normal patrol—boring, hot, frustrating. Starsky sat in the passenger’s seat next to his partner and rookie-trainer, Lou Morgan. Or Louis, as he preferred to be called, which irritated the young police officer. Only John Blaine and their Captain got away with calling him “Lou” or “Morgan.” The man came out to California to break into the movies. After so many rejections, he tried his hand as a stunt double, still hoping someone would discover him, then gave up the dream and joined up with the BCPD.

And, so it seemed to Starsky, Louis took all his frustrations of not making it big onto his trainees. He wouldn’t even let Starsky drive; not that he wanted to drive such a lumbering vehicle. Just wait until I get out of patrol where I can drive my own car—and it’s gonna be a hot one.

To Starsky’s way of thinking, they were doing more important work than mindless entertainment. Besides, the man was nowhere near good looking enough to make it in show business. Not nearly as handsome as his new best friend, Ken Hutchinson, whom Starsky had met at the Academy. Now, there was a man meant for show business. Thank God Hutch never even considered it, or Starsky would be left without one very loyal, very intelligent friend. And hopefully someday, partner.

“What?” Louis’s question brought Starsky out of his reverie.

“Huh?”

“You said ‘Partner.’ What did you want?”

His mind scrambling to come up with something, Starsky didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud his wishes for Hutch to eventually be his partner. “Oh, uh, I was gonna say I hope something interesting happens today, Partner. So far, the last couple a’weeks have been boring. Directing traffic, writing up accidents, collaring penny ante thieves…”

Louis snorted. “Cop work ain’t like the movies, kid. If you wanted glamour, you should’ve tried your luck there. You know I could’ve been in the movies. Yeah, but those fat asses…”

Starsky tuned out the rest. Please, let dispatch call us for something… anything at this point.

He got his wish as dispatch called an APB on a white 1965 Plymouth Belvedere with chrome wheels, license plate EZK 321, wanted in connection with a Code 187—homicide. The vehicle was stolen from the victim from the scene earlier that morning.

Several hours into their shift, consisting of not much more than taking statements on a few juvenile thefts, Starsky spotted the suspect vehicle. He flipped on the mars light and the Belvedere pulled over to the side easily. Showing no concern, the driver pulled over and rolled down his window. He appeared unworried when Starsky asked for his driver’s license while Louis called in the plates.

The license identified the driver as 23-year-old Andre Bloom; his passenger appeared much younger… and nervous.

Handing the license back, Starsky leaned in to talk to the passenger. “What’s your name kid?”

“St… Stefan.”

Starsky leaned casually against the car’s roof. “What’s wrong, Stefan? You’re acting nervous or scared. What do you have to be scared about?”

He glanced nervously at Andre, then back to Starsky. “You’re the fuzz. My ma’ll get mad at me if I get arrested.”

The statement struck Starsky as odd. Why would the kid think he was going to be arrested? He glanced over where Louis stood outside the patrol car, who then nodded for Starsky to come over.

“This is the victim’s car. I’ve called homicide to tell them we’re bringing in two persons of interest. You get the kid. I’ll take the driver.”

Starsky walked over to the passenger side of the Belvedere with his hand on his revolver. He didn’t anticipate any problems from Stefan, but one always wanted to be prepared. He opened the door and told the young man to get out.

Stefan stumbled getting out, but got his bearing and started to take off. A well-placed leg by Starsky sent the teen sprawling on the tree lawn and it took Starsky just moments to cuff him. The young man struggled a bit, but Starsky had him subdued in no time.

Louis already had Andre cuffed and in the patrol car; so while his partner called for a tow truck to take the Belvedere to headquarters, Starsky sat his young prisoner down on the curb.

“How old are you, Stefan?”

All of a sudden, the frightened kid got belligerent. “I’m not talking! I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with it! You’re not getting me on anything.”

“That’s an odd response to my question. You’re not arrested. We’re just gonna take you and your buddy over there,” Starsky pointed to Andre sitting in the patrol car, “downtown for some questioning. Again, how old are you?”

The boy trembled visibly with eyes wide as he watched Starsky stoop down. “Old enough to know better than to say anything to you.”

Starsky sighed. He was sure the kid was under 16. They couldn’t talk to Stefan without his parent’s permission. And anything he said could be considered ‘hearsay’ and not admissible. “Ok. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna take you downtown and call your parents. In the meantime, don’t say anything until we get there. Do you understand?”

Eyes still wide, Stefan took Starsky’s words literally and nodded. Starsky helped him up and the teen spit at his feet. The teen didn’t say a word all the way back downtown. Starsky observed Andre nudging him with his knees and trying to get a non-verbal warning through to the kid. During the short drive to Parker, Andre chatted up like he had not a care in the world and didn’t even ask why he was being brought in for questioning.

Once at Parker, Starsky and Louis turned their prisoners over to the homicide detectives. Starsky wanted nothing more than to stay and find out what Stefan meant by his statement that he ‘had nothing to do with it.’

“Let’s just hang here awhile,” he asked Louis. “I wanna hear what’s going down.”

But Louis reminded him that that wasn’t his job. “Get your ass in gear. Our job is to cuff and drop. We don’t book ’em, we don’t interrogate ’em.” Louis started walking down the hall to the elevator and turned around to make sure his rookie partner was following.

Starsky trudged behind his partner to sign their patrol car back in, chafing at the restrictions of his current job. He wanted to be in the thick of things. “This is crap. We get the collar, but no credit. Back to the grunt work. How’m I supposed to learn anything?” He mumbled to himself, stomping after his partner.

***

Hutch looked up from the narrative. “So that’s when you decided to try for homicide?”

Starsky walked over to where Hutch was sitting at the kitchen table with a confused look clearly on his face. “We’ve talked about this, Hutch.”

“No… no, we never did. We just always assumed and hoped we’d be partners while at the Academy, but I’m pretty sure we never discussed in what direction our careers would play. I always assumed you just fell into homicide because of John Blaine.”

“And because you were in love with me, you followed me blindly.” Starsky batted his still thick eyelashes.

“Wither thou goest? Not likely then,” Hutch replied drolly. “Actually, it was your sexy ass I followed.” He leered as he leaned around to grope Starsky’s still luscious and firm ass. “I already pretty much knew from my first month on patrol that I wanted homicide, but I was worried you might be upset if you settled elsewhere and we didn’t get to be partnered. So, when you got promoted there, it was a lot easier.”

“Wait a minute.” Starsky held up his hand, affronted. “You mean to tell me that if I decided to try for Robbery or Narcotics or some such, you wouldn’t’ve come with me and been my partner? I thought we had an agreement!” Even in his 50’s Starsky could still pull off the puppy dog look, and he used it now.

“No. I knew I wanted homicide, right out of the Academy.” Hutch stopped and looked closely at Starsky. “I thought you knew that.” He didn’t let his partner answer, but continued, “Especially after my first murder. You know, the little baby girl that was killed on my second week on the streets.”

“I vaguely remember you telling me about it, but I don’t remember any details. What happened again?”

Hutch closed his eyes. Not to remember, as the case stayed with him always, but because of the waste and awfulness still with him. “It was something I’ll never forget. A case that stays with you forever…. My first week with Luke was pretty uneventful. Breaking up fights, ordering kids to stop loitering, busting a pusher… Then on the second day of my second week—it was a Wednesday, I still remember…”

***

Hutch sat in the passenger seat of the patrol car next to his instructor, Luke Huntley. Luke was a good guy and allowed his trainee to alternate driving, which many training officers didn’t do. Hutch considered himself lucky. They got along well; Luke was a good teacher, and Hutch knew that he knew that Hutch was not meant to be in uniform for long.

With his college education, Ken Hutchinson was just the kind of officer the BCPD was looking for. As long as he didn’t screw up, a promotion wouldn’t be long in coming for the blond cop.

So far, his training had been fairly easy and uneventful. Perfect for getting a rookie a gradual understanding of what was expected of him.

And they didn’t expect any major issues in the near future. It was still spring and the weather was near perfect. Not too hot yet. Besides, their patrol area consisted of a quiet residential area of older families and adults, many of who had retired.

Therefore, it was something of a surprise when they got a call for a Code 187 on Grant Street, late in the morning.

Luke immediately turned the car in the direction of Grant, while Hutch responded to dispatch.

As they pulled up, silencing the siren, another team was already there. Officer Debi Carlton looked like she was going to puke. A black man in his late 20s with a large Afro was sitting on the front steps of a house, rocking, while being surrounded and hugged by several elderly white ladies.

“Where’s the media when you need them to take this picture?” Luke muttered under his breath. “Talk about good racial PR.”

The other male officer, Donald O’Hara, walked over to Hutch and Luke as they got out of their car.

“It’s a baby.”

“Oh, shit.” Child victims weren’t easy at any time, but for it to be Hutchinson’s first homicide would prove the young cop’s mettle. Unfortunately, it was something he would have to deal with at some point in his career.

Hutch and Luke walked over to a green van pulled to the side with its front passenger wheel over the curb onto a tree lawn. Peeking in, the little one was still buckled in. She appeared to be over a year, but less than two. Several gunshots had pierced the sliding door, with one small bullet hole visible in the child’s temple. Blood on the other side of the seat indicated that there was another victim.

O’Hara confirmed this fact, mentioning the little girl’s brother and mother went to the hospital to treat the former for a gunshot wound to his arm.

As senior officer, Luke directed Hutch and Carlton to secure the scene, while he and O’Hara talked to the father and other witnesses.

“Is that the father?” Hutch nodded at the man sitting and rocking in a trance.

Detective Carlton looked back. “Yeah, poor guy. When we got here, he was pacing in a rage. Wanting to be the tough guy. You can tell he wants to cry, but can’t.”

After a short while the Medical Examiner and a pair of detectives arrived and moved the little girl’s body to a stretcher, and interviewed witnesses. Hutch kept looking back while keeping the nosy public at bay.

He watched the detectives and tried to catch bits of their conversation. His eyes couldn’t help going to the tiny body covered in white, and the grieving father. He felt frustrated standing around. He wanted to do something. But his duties required he take orders from the senior officers and Hutch had ‘duty’ pounded into him from a young age. Even taking down statements without orders could skewer an investigation. He knew to leave interrogation and examination to the more trained detectives and forensic cops.

It would be the first time Hutch ran into the brick wall of procedure, and it sure wouldn’t be his last.

***

Back in the present, Hutch now sat back eyes closed, anguish reflected on his face. “If you could’ve seen it, Starsk. It’s something that always stuck with me. I’ll never forget that tiny little lump of white sheet, and the almost peaceful look on that baby’s face as she sat in her seat. Like she was taking a nap. Maybe she had been, I don’t think I ever knew. Hopefully she went right from sleep to heaven.

“I remember feeling frustrated, horrified, and angry. Yeah, we’re taught to be impartial, but sometimes it was hard, you know that.” Hutch opened his eyes and looked at Starsky, the pain of that long ago case in the still vivid blue eyes. “I vowed right then and there that I wanted to be a part of a team that would alleviate all that pain and to catch any animals that could be so morally corrupt they could kill or harm a child.”

Starsky pulled his lover up into an embrace. “Aw, babe. Why’d you never tell me about it? I mean that’s a shitty thing to see first week in uniform. Even back then, you had to know I was gonna be there for you.” He paused to add some needed levity. “We could’ve gotten drunk together.”

Hutch snorted. “Hmppf… We probably did and don’t remember. Besides, I thought I did tell you.”

“Nah, I’d remember something like that affecting my partner—future partner then—and best bud.” He paused. “But it doesn’t matter how we got there; I’m glad we ended up together—first as partners, then as partners.”

Hutch took a deep breath where he was leaning against the other man’s shoulder and smelled pure Starsky—musk, woodsy, and a hint of peppermint. The pheromone went right from Hutch’s nose into his bloodstream and down to his gonads. He reached down and grabbed Starsky’s ass with both hands and squeezed tight—but not enough to hurt.

He signaled mentally to Starsky his need to let the memory go with some gentle loving, who then took the lead and grabbed Hutch’s hand and pulled him toward their bedroom.

While he didn’t balk, Hutch did pull back slightly. “What about the rest of your draft? I haven’t read that much of it.”

“Later.” And Starsky closed the bedroom door behind them.